


So Bound with Ice

by subjunctive



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Jotun Loki, Jotunheim Won the War, Marvel Universe Big Bang 2014, Slavery, Stargazing, Viking-esque Europe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Jotunheim won the war and took control of Midgard, humans are serfs, farming the land and avoiding the frost giants whenever possible - until that becomes impossible for Jane Fosterdottir, who catches the visiting prince's eye and is manipulated into his service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Marvel Big Bang! Despite signing up for a few (or more) over the years, this is the first I've managed to complete.
> 
> The art was drawn by paynesgrey and can be found [here at AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2578106) or [here at DeviantArt](http://quirkyslayer.deviantart.com/art/Loki-x-Jane-AU-So-Bound-with-Ice-493019906). Check it out, she drew one of my favorite scenes!
> 
> Heed the tags and CNTW label. I've tagged it with both non-con and dub-con depending on how it's defined; I think it could be seen either way.
> 
> The title was inspired by the inspiration for Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice," which is a passage from Dante's _Inferno_ that describes "a lake so bound with ice, / It did not look like water, but like a glass ... right clear / I saw, where sinners are preserved in ice." This is the hell reserved for traitors.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jane trudged through the snow, hiking up her skirts so they wouldn't get too wet later. She kept her pace slower for Erik's benefit – he was getting older and his knees weren't what they used to be, he had been saying lately, with a rueful smile. Jane was worried for his health, of course – he'd taken her in when she was but six years old, and cared for her as if she were his own – but privately she also had her own reasons for dreading Erik's death, namely what was going to happen to her afterward. She couldn't bear thinking about it.

As Erik paused halfway up the slope, and Jane stopped with him, a flash of light on ice caught Jane's eye. For a moment it was bright, almost blinding; and then it passed, to her relief.

It had been the sunlight reflecting off of one of the spires in the distance. The Jotuns had built their homes, giant structures of ice, not a mile from Bjarn, the human village. All the better to impose their presence, Jane thought with a sour twist to her mouth. Even in the summertime, when the Jotuns went north and the air was warm, they didn't melt. They just sparkled in the distance. Some kind of magic was at work, of course, although the Jotuns were secretive about the mechanics of it.

Sometimes villagers, especially teenagers, would go to get a closer look at the giants' houses, and came back with descriptions so fanciful they had to be invented: terraces, balustrades, statues, all perfectly formed of ice, glittering and gorgeous. Jane had never felt the urge herself, preferring to stay as far away as possible from the hateful things, although she had wondered once or twice in her curiosity how they built them, and what they looked like from the inside. She couldn't imagine a more inhospitable environment than endless slabs of ice, but it was possible that the giants, although they were brutes, could be clever in their own way, and that their designs might improve those of the villagers. Not that she could ever ask.

The building with the highest spires, the one that had attracted her attention, was uninhabited. It had been made for the royal family of Jotunheim, apparently, but since their victory on Midgard, they had never visited. Why would they, Jane thought bitterly, even though she didn't want them to. In their eyes, Midgardians were just specks, barely higher life-forms than insects.

Erik's arm tugged on hers, breaking out of her reverie. "Sorry," she said breathlessly, looking back at the path.

"Lost in thought?" he said gently, studying her.

She forced a smile, and let Erik lean on her as they made it up the final steps to the house. Throwing the door open, Jane gave an audible sigh of relief, and heard Erik do the same. 

For all that she hated its source, Jane was grateful for the magic that kept the houses at a steady temperature fit for humans - much warmer than the winter outside preferred by the giants. Erik took care of their cloaks while she tended to the fire. She'd have to go down into the garden to know exactly what she'd be preparing, but she hazarded a guess that it would be soup again. And there was a loaf of bread rising in a bowl in the corner. 

Erik was quiet and he went about folding up their cloaks and stashing them away. Normally he would be talking about his work, what sort of problems Bjarn was facing and what they could do about them. Come to think of it, Erik had been pretty quiet for the last few days. It had registered, but she hadn't given herself time to think about it, and thinking about it made what felt like a pit of ice settle in her stomach. It could be a sign of his ailing health. But it was always possible it was a different problem entirely, she told herself. One they were more equipped to deal with. 

"Anything interesting happen today?" Jane tried, leaning over the hearth. Erik looked up suddenly, as if he were surprised to hear her voice.

"No, nothing," he said with a frown, as though he were distracted. Jane didn't quite believe him.

"I can't wait for summer," Jane sighed, finally sitting back. Truth be told, she had it relatively easy, because Erik's contributions to the village's agricultural technology (along with her help as well) earned him the right to his share of the farmers' crops and ranchers' meats, without either of them having to engage in a lot of manual labor. Not that she ever got credit from any man but Erik.

Sitting next to her, Erik passed her a mug of beer. "You mean when we can finally go outdoors without seven layers?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. "When you were young, you hated every clasp and knot and buckle. I swear, you would have run around naked if given the chance, child."

Jane smiled at the memory. She hadn't ever grown to like complicated clothing, but she had learned to accept it. "That's not what I meant."

Erik's lips purse, but he didn't say anything.

"You know what I mean," she persisted. "When the giants are gone."

Erik sighed, and Jane knew what was coming; he'd berated her enough in the past for expressing criticism of the frost giants. Not out of any loyalty, she knew, just prudence – not a virtue she herself had yet mastered. The world had been this way for almost a thousand years, he reminded her whenever she had brought it up. Unrelenting winter with the Giants for six months, then six months where the land was friable and the people were free to warm up. It was their arrangement, organized after Jotunheim's defeat of Midgard and Asgard. Humans produced food and menial labor in return for some measure of protection and freedom during the growing months when the Jotuns would venture north. Whenever Jane had questioned this arrangement, asking why the Jotuns needed their food if they had their own world, it had been explained that Jotunheim had only the smallest strip of arable land compared to Midgard's bounty. Jane thought it was because they liked having somebody to kick around when it amused them.

This time, however, Erik didn't reprimand her as usual, just looked at her over the rim of his mug. Twice Jane thought he was about to say something to her, but then seemed to change his mind. Finally he rose and held a hand out to her. "Come, I'll help you gather the vegetables for stew.” His smile, tired though it was, was almost enough to chase away Jane's worries. But not quite.

  
  


The next morning, they learned that the prince was coming to visit.

The news had spread like wildfire through Bjarn. Everyone was confused, and no one had any idea why a member of the royal family was coming to visit – although some thought they did, expounding outlandish theories after a few mugs of beer that night. Everyone that Jane spoke to was nervous, though: the regular giants were bad enough, but no one wanted to encounter the ones at the top of the ladder. Was he coming to impose stricter demands on them? To make sure the humans were being kept appropriately underfoot? To raise the agricultural tax?

Every option made Jane sick to her stomach, too much for much drinking to be really enjoyable. Instead, she escorted a mildly inebriated Erik home from the Lewis home, where Darcy had been distributing her newest brew. Or probably Erik was escorting Jane; it wasn't always safe for a woman at night, and his presence was helpful.

Nearly all the villagers were at Darcy's, so when Jane heard voices speaking, voices that sounded not at all human, she stopped out of instinct.

Erik looked at her with curiosity, barely visible in the waning light. She held a finger to her lips, and he nodded. Hopefully he wasn't drunk enough to be very clumsy or make a lot of noise that would get them caught. She led them across the long edge of a longhouse, to where she could hear the voices coming from.

Glancing around the corner, she couldn't see anyone in the vicinity, until she looked down into the valley nearby. The moonlight made their movements visible, towering figures shifting like giant boulders. A shudder ran through Jane that she couldn't totally attribute to the cold.

Although she could hear their voices, she couldn't quite make out the words. She wavered on the edge of indecision. It wasn't often they got the chance to observe the giants in secret, much less listen to them talk. If she could get a little closer without being noticed, maybe she could find out something about the royal visit.

Her decision made, she turned to Erik. "Stay here," she hissed. "I mean it."

"Jane," he whispered, looking worried.

"I'll be careful. You know we need to know _something_ ," she added after seeing the unhappy line of his mouth.

The slope was gentle and the valley shallow. That meant it wasn't dangerous for her to climb down a little, but it did mean they'd have a better chance of spotting her when she did. She would have to use the trees as cover, and wait until clouds covered the moon, which was inconveniently full, to decrease her visibility. Hiking up her skirts a little, she edged around to the nearest tree, fortunately hundreds of years old and enormous, to hide behind its trunk and peek around.

At the next occasion of cloud cover, she struck out, trying to keep as light and quick on her feet as possible, while at the same time avoiding stepping on branches and anything else that would announce her presence.

She managed to get further down, about thirty yards, without any incident. Behind another tree, she tried to focus and listen, even though her heart was beating so loudly in her ears. She could make out individual giants' voices now, as they took turns speaking and laughing, but only caught perhaps one word out of three.

Mentally Jane cursed, and looked for her next target. There was another tree below her, another twenty yards; Jane though if she could reach it, she could hear them.

At the next roar of laughter, Jane darted out from behind her tree, and made her way down a little more slowly. Luckily for her, the tree was nearly in a straight line down, and hid her progress for her.

Peeking out from behind the trunk, she tried to catch her breath and listened, hard. There were only maybe four giants - it was hard to tell - which was fewer than what she'd estimated before. In the dark she had mistaken every lump for a new creature. Here their outlines were clearer; they sat in a circle, cross-legged. Thankfully, their voices were so much louder than human ones.

"– you heard?"

"He loves playing tricks," rumbled one giant confidently. He was facing her direction, so she heard him clearly. "Always he is up to mischief at the palace, or so I have heard."

Were they talking about the prince? Unconsciously, Jane leaned forward, listening avidly.

One of the Jotuns who was facing away from her spoke, and she couldn't make everything out: ". . . sent him away . . . bother . . ."

"Or he was bored, and comes to unleash his boredom on us," said the first sourly. They all snorted, the sound like a distant landslide to Jane's ears.

A third giant spoke, but all she could catch was something about Midgard, or maybe Midgardians. Jane bit her lip and screwed up every ounce of her concentration.

"– too delicate," another said, sounding female and especially put out. "They could be hurt . . ."

"Are you concerned for their well-being, Aurboda?" Rarely had Jane had the opportunity to hear a Jotun sound amused. The other giants laughed.

The she-giant he'd spoken to laughed, too, dimming Jane's hope. But she turned her head, so that Jane could see her in profile, all sharp features and sharper claws dangling over her knees. "Hardly. But . . . not return to farming."

There was murmured agreement from around her.

"I have a cousin who serves the palace," said the first giant. "She says Loki is a runt, but a most powerful sorcerer."

"Could be . . . eration. You know h . . ." The next words garbled together to Jane.

"Perhaps." His tone was grim. "The warriors he has bested in combat also speak of his prowess." He looked disgruntled by the possibility, and the other giants shifted around him.

From there, the conversation seemed to move on to other topics. Jane waited a minute to see if they would speak of Loki again, but when they didn't, turned to look up the slope. Compared to how she'd come down, it looked like a much longer return journey.

She still had some cloud cover, however. After glancing back over her shoulder, Jane began taking slow steps up the valley's slope. One at a time, she told herself, and tried to step into the footprints she'd left earlier, knowing they would be safest.

Jane miscalculated a step, though, and her foot slid on an icy jut of rock underneath. With a surprised sound, she fell into the snow face-first.

Behind her, she heard, "– was that?" Resisting the urge to turn around and look - knowing the movement and the whites of her eyes might give her away - Jane stayed as still as possible against the ground, despite the wet and cold.

"So jumpy, Fimafeng," chuckled a giant, and the conversation resumed. Still, Jane didn't dare move until she heard them moving around. Chancing a look over her shoulder, she glimpsed the group rising and beginning one of their games – a fighting game, maybe. The sounds were a perfect cover for her to begin moving again, which she did slowly. Not just out of caution, but she found herself growing numb, too. Too much time spent outside.

She managed to make it up the slope, barely still standing on her feet. Brushing the snow off her front and shivering, Jane made her way back to where she thought she'd left Erik.

He was still waiting for her, she realized with relief as she turned round the corner of the last longhouse. As she approached, Erik caught her arm.

"I'm okay," she managed. "Although I might not be if I don't get inside soon."

Sighing, and looking significantly more sober than she had left him, Erik led her back to the main path. He didn't say anything as they walked back to their house; instead, he looked around suspiciously, as if people in the village might be listening.

The warmth of the house was a profound relief. The fire hadn't died out, either; Jane stripped off her overdress and went to sit next to it. Erik stayed by her side, looking nervous in the firelight.

"Did you find anything out?" he asked, an urgent note to his voice. He had taken hold of her elbow again, a little too tight for Jane's comfort.

How weird of him to ask, thought Jane with a frown, holding her fingers as close as possible to the fire without burning them. Normally he would berate her. Her voice was still unsteady as she said, "N-not much."

"Jane, you must tell me," he said anxiously, sitting next to her on the floor. He didn't seem drunk at all now, she thought, and tried to speak a few times, but could only let out shuddering breaths.

Seeing her trouble, he relented. The stew was still on the fire; he poured her a bowl and passed it over, still watching her. Blowing on it gently, she picked out pieces of meat and vegetable, cooked so long they were falling apart, and ate them, heedless of the heat.

When she could speak, she told him of how they thought the prince was a trickster, how they didn't know whether he was coming of his own accord or being punished for some reason, how he might have powerful magic. He nodded, paying close attention to her words and asking questions here and there, most of which she couldn't answer because she hadn't heard everything. His questions made her feel tired and confused - why did it matter so much? - and by the end of the conversation her head was feeling foggy and she ached to lay down. She could barely keep her head up, and found it dropping down unexpectedly.

"All right," Erik said, sounding unhappy, though she wasn't sure about what. "Enough of that. I can tell you're exhausted. Go to bed. But you should know, we're receiving guests tomorrow."

Jane tried to think of who would be visiting them this time of the year. It wasn't impossible, but in the dead of winter, with the giants so close, it was unusual. Most people preferred not to risk death overmuch. "Who?"

"Just some traders," he said dismissively, getting up with a little difficulty. "Coming up from the south. Don't worry yourself about it."

Just in time to meet the prince, she thought, curling up into her furs and already drowsing. Wouldn't they like that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is finished; I'm putting up chapters as I finish the final edits. Everything will be up by the end of the day!

The next morning, the sun was glittering off of the snow, which was crusted over with ice. Even so, there was a buzz of energy about the village: everyone was curious when, and how, the prince would arrive. They didn't always see the giants here coming and going, but once in a while they glimpsed the roaring blue tunnel of light that connected Midgard to the heavens.

Jane herself was wildly curious about how the bridge worked, but she couldn't stand the gossipy whispers of excitement and fear about _who_ would be coming.

Instead, she busied herself preparing for the company they would be receiving. Erik had told her there would be four of them, and that they would be hungry; she wondered where he had met them, if they were acquaintances from his travels earlier in life.

She let Lief know that she would need the last goat she and Erik were owed, to his relief, then bargained with Darcy for a cask of ale. Together they pushed the cart toward Jane and Erik's.

"Jealous," panted Darcy, every other word punctuated by a deep breath. "Maybe one of your guests will be hot. And unmarried," she added with an unmistakable leer.

Groaning, Jane tried to summon the extra energy to roll her eyes in Darcy's direction. "Will you stop it with that."

"I'm just saying! It'd be lucky."

It probably _would_ be lucky. Jane knew she was invaluable to Erik; she did more than half the share of their work designing and assembling the machines they built. But she also knew it didn't look that way from the outside. Unmarried women were generally a burden. But even though she _had_ been lonely since Don died, and Erik had encouraged her to find companionship - for her own good, he insisted, and to make sure she was taken care of after he was gone - there was always too much work to do. And, if she was honest, she didn't really want to.

Sometimes she thought her heart had frozen over as much as the landscape did every winter with the coming of the giants. But that wasn't a thought she wanted to share with Darcy.

"How are you talking so much," Jane groaned. "Must be . . . me doing . . . all the work here."

"Funny," Darcy said through her teeth.

Together they rolled the barrel off the cart as gently as possible, got it in the door, and tipped it upright. Breathing heavily, Darcy leaned against the cask, almost sitting on top of it. "This is the good stuff, Fosterdottir. I'll have you know. Primo. Practically priceless."

" _Not_ worth a new grinder." Jane stretched out her arms. "Besides, we already sold you one. Discounted!"

Darcy pouted. "Yeah, but I could've sold it to someone else."

"You got new glasses out of the deal. I think that's fair. C'mon." Gesturing, Jane opened the door to the root cellar.

Groaning to show her anticipation for more work, Darcy led the way down with a lamp. She picked out vegetables, inspecting them with relish, while Jane held out the edge of her apron for collection. "Aren't you even a little bit curious?" she asked, glancing over a rutabaga.

"Curious?"

Darcy rolled her eyes. "About frost giant royalty, and the fact that it's visiting us. Duh."

Maybe. "No."

"Disappointingly, I believe you. You're no fun. You're like . . . the opposite of fun," Darcy proclaimed, dropping two apples into Jane's apron.

"Thanks," Jane said dryly. When they had assembled enough food to feed a few families, they left to collect the goat, which had been helpfully dressed and quartered by the time they arrived.

"You're the only person who can get fresh meat this time of the year," Darcy grumbled once they were out of earshot, carrying one of the slings. Jane had the other, and they began to trudge back to the house.

Jane grinned, her spirits lifting. There were perks to being a genius. "Be grateful, we're sharing tonight."

"True. But -" Darcy's voice cut off as they rounded the corner to reach the main road. As soon as Jane caught up, she figured out why.

There were _giants_ in the village. Not just one: maybe half a dozen or more. Jane's heart seized up. They shouldn't have been there. Giants hardly ever came down to the heart of the town, though they were often around and nearby, and not hard to find - not that anyone went looking.

They stood head and shoulders taller than the buildings around them, bright blue against the backdrop of snow. More than a few human figures had gathered around to watch from a distance.

Darcy and Jane inched closer. "Do you think . . ." breathed Darcy.

"Has to be. Who else?" Jane elbowed her to get her to shut up. They might be overheard.

Trying to distinguish between the figures, Jane craned her neck. They were five times as broad as any man, their shoulders thick with muscle. True to their name, they did not seem to mind the cold of winter, wearing only loincloths of fur and some jewelry and weapons. Six hulking figures were arrayed in two lines - escorts, she realized, for the seventh. Who must be the prince. And who was much shorter and slighter than the others.

Jane blinked. It hadn't occurred to her that the prince might be a child. Jotun children were a rare sight on Midgard.

But as one of the guards moved, she realized that her assumption might be wrong. Despite his height, he didn't look like a child - he was perfectly proportionate, taller than a Midgardian man, even. A runt, then, she thought, though she had never seen one before.

The Jotuns in question turned about, looking around him. His gaze alighted on Jane, just for a moment. Giants were hard to read, their expressions and mannerisms (if they had any) deeply foreign, but she thought he might have looked _bored_ , of all things. Well, he was probably used to finer things in life than their little village.

There was a piercing sound to the right of Jane, who started before recognizing it as a child's cry. A little boy, no more than three at the most, darted into the middle of the road to grab something. A toy, she realized. When the boy stood up again, he didn't even come halfway up the giant's calf. 

The giant standing in front of him. The giant who was _raising his foot_ , and there was no one else close enough to -

Jane darted out before she even realized what she was doing. Goat in one hand, she pushed the boy out of the way with her other. That seemed to galvanize him into action: he ran for his mother with all the speed in him.

Mission accomplished, Jane turned back to the giant. "What do you think you're doing?" she shouted up at him, before thinking better of it. A collective moan of horror arose from the other villagers who were watching.

The giant stared at her for a second - she had the feeling she had succeeded at surprising a frost giant – before turning to the others and letting out a bellow of laughter, which was quickly echoed. The sound of their laughter was like rocks scraping together. "This little girl thinks to question me," he managed through his fit of entertainment. "The prince's guard! Tell me, your highness, how shall I have her punished? Think you she would make a good stew?"

"Now, now," said a voice with an inflection that Jane didn't recognize, and not just because it was a frost giant - it didn't _sound_ like a frost giant, even though, she realized with a wave of cold fear, it was the prince himself.

The giant who must have been Loki appeared around the leg of the guardsman, and Jane backed away a step instinctively. Even though he was nearly human-size, he was still much taller than her, with a long knife slung at his side. His vivid red gaze bore down on her under the silver circlet that marked him royalty. There was no pity in it, only a coldness that was more pronounced than she had ever seen, even more than from any of the other giants.

"Tell me," he began, looking down his nose at her. "Are all Midgardians as stupid as you?" Before she could say anything, or apologize, he continued, "Don't answer that. I wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself."

Jane's cheeks burned, and not just from the cold. He didn't sound like any frost giant she'd ever spoken to, either in tenor or tone. He sounded human, with a bit more gravel.

"Besides," he added with a smirk, "what kind of ruler would I be if I did not rule with a benevolent hand? Truly, humans are little more than goats, and what use is it to punish a goat? Tell me, goat, what is your name?"

 _You're not our ruler yet,_ Jane almost said out of spite, before remembering what had gotten her in trouble in the first place. She met his gaze headfirst, though, which only seemed to intensify his attention. "Jane Fosterdottir," she said finally, the wind stripping away her voice.

"She doesn't bow or scrape," he said with a strange delight, as though she were some kind of animal he were observing. "Tell me, Jane Fosterdottir, do you know who I am?"

Despite the cold, Jane's palms were sweating. She couldn't bring herself to speak, only shaking her head. A lie might - _might_ \- save her. An expectant hush had fallen over everyone, from the giants to the other villagers. All eyes were on the prince.

"I see," he said, amused, as if he knew she wasn't telling the truth. "I am Loki, prince of Jotunheim. _Your_ prince, I believe that makes me. You may address me as _your royal highness,_ when you make your apology." He lifted his eyebrows and gestured expectantly.

Jane took a deep breath. "I apologize, your royal highness," she said as formally as possible, ducking her gaze and offering a deep curtsy.

She still caught his smile, full of teeth. "Very well then, Jane Fosterdottir." He kept saying her name, and it made her flinch each time. He said it like a weapon, as sharp as his knife must have been, as if her own name were something to be used against her.

"Be grateful for the great mercy of the crown," he continued. "As a goat should." She ground her teeth and said nothing, didn't dare to move even a muscle.

After a long moment, he seemed to lose interest and turned back to his entourage. "This is all terribly boring. I don't even know why we're here. Fafnir, what were you saying about a mountain range perfect for -"

Jane was barely listening, her heartbeat pounding too loud in her ears as they passed through the village without another incident, and finally disappeared over the horizon. She thought she might have been holding her breath the entire time, only letting it out once she was sure she was safe. (For now.)

Darcy ran up to her, clutching her hand. "Jane, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?" she hissed, sounding about as panicked as Jane felt. Jane half-listened to Darcy berate her, the other woman near tears, lost in the fog of her own mind and unable to answer. What _had_ she been thinking? As usual, she hadn't been. Or at least that was what Erik would say.

Hysteria fading, Darcy pulled her along to the longhouse, Jane following in a daze. By the time they got there, Darcy had calmed down most of the way.

"I hope . . ." Darcy's tone changed to something more thoughtful. "I hope this doesn't change anything. Not you - I mean, him being here."

"It won't," Jane said, finding her voice. Together they put the goat quarters in the pots. "Any of them would have . . . Nothing's going to change."

It would later turn out that she was very, very wrong about that.


	3. Chapter 3

Jane's hands shook a little for the rest of the day, even as she and Darcy spent the afternoon preparing the evening meal. Neither of them spoke much, the atmosphere still too tense, although it did help when Darcy declared they needed to break open the cask.

"For you, seriously," Darcy insisted, although Jane thought her favorite part of being the town's brewer was sampling her own creations. "You're about to slice your hand off with those onions. And I don't want blood in my dinner, thanks."

The ale did help a little, or at least it smoothed over the worst of Jane's jitters. It tasted good, at least; Darcy preened under the compliment.

In the afternoon, when the stew was bubbling in pots over the fires and they were making dough, there was a knock on the door.

When Jane opened the door, there were four people looking back at her. One woman was among them - their guests arrived before Erik made it back, she realized nervously.

"Uh, hi, hello, I'm Jane. This is Darcy," she said after inviting them in. They introduced themselves, one by one. The woman pushed her hood back, dumping snow on the ground and revealing the darkest hair Jane had ever seen. When she shook off her cloak, Jane saw the shield she carried, and a sword too, finely crafted. She was a shield-maiden, a warrior woman.

"Erik should be back soon," she said apologetically. "I'm not sure where he is, please make yourself at home."

"Smells good," rumbled the largest man, leaning over the fire and taking a big whiff. "Almost as delicious as my wife Gudrun's -"

"My good man, be honest, you'd eat anything that wasn't actively rotting," said the blond man amiably. He had chosen a spot on the floor near the fire and lounged. The others followed his lead.

"I have taste, I'll have you know," said the first, turning to address the woman and rubbing his red beard anxiously. "Don't you think I have taste?"

"You have quite enough taste," she said dryly. "Enough taste to level a small farm in a single sitting, I think."

"He could do that just by sitting on it," said the blond. The whole group laughed at that, including the target of their insults, whose protests were meager and good-humored.

They accepted the ale and food they were offered as if it was their due, including the woman, who didn't rise to help them during the rest of the preparations. It made Jane wonder, with some irritation, if they were important, wherever they were coming from, if they were so used to being served.

Erik made it home, finally, just in time for dinner. He kissed Jane on the cheek, explaining that Alf's threshing machine had stopped working and needed repair. He greeted their visitors individually, as if he were meeting them for the first time, and along with Darcy's husband, they all sat down to dinner together.

The rest of the night blurred together after that, full of drinking and enough merriment that Jane's uneasiness from earlier in the day began to really settle a bit. Two of the men sang a vigorous drinking song - she was starting to think the third man might have been mute. And Darcy insisted on doing a rendition of what had happened with the prince that day, complete with her own editorial commentary, which made it more funny and slightly less horrifying, even as Jane covered her face in embarrassment.

The traders were, as could only be expected, very interested in the frost giant prince and made Darcy describe him in great detail, which she did with more flair and flourish than strictly necessary. At that point, Jane began to feel the slight blur that came with drinking, not sure how much time was passing.

"Brave soul," said the blond man seriously, a bit later, sitting down next to her with two mugs and a tray still half-full of cheese and dried fruit.

"What -" Jane said unthinkingly, and then remembered. "Oh. No, it wasn't really bravery." She stuffed a hunk of bread and cheese in her mouth.

"Merely reckless stupidity?" he hazarded with a grin. "I have a friend who is quite the same way." He had a very well-groomed mustache. He must spend time on it, Jane thought, almost giggling.

"Nevertheless," he said, "I insist you take the compliment. And our compliments for the food, and your gracious hospitality, and the excellent ale, and the opportunity to be in the company of such beautiful women."

Jane's mouth opened, but she wasn't sure what to say. It had been so long since - She wondered if the alcohol was making her flush. "The ale was all Darcy," she said lamely, after a short silence, looking away.

"Very well, I retract one-quarter of my compliments." His enthusiasm seemed undimmed by how flustered she was, and he reached over to take her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. It was an unmistakable gesture.

Jane froze. "I don't - I'm not -"

"Oy," said a voice from behind them. Jane looked up to the dark-haired woman, glaring severely at him. She looked very imposing; Jane even felt her own mouth go dry.

The woman kicked him in the leg. Maybe they were together, Jane theorized. The question popped out of her mouth, emboldened by alcohol: "Are you two -?"

Her question was met with twin expressions of horror. "Odin's beard," he muttered, rubbing his thigh where the kick had landed. "I would never -"

Her glare shut him up. "I get the feeling she wants you to leave her alone," she said with emphasis.

His face fell. "Is that true, Jane?"

Now she was definitely blushing. "Not like . . . I mean, I like the company, don't get me wrong, you seem like a nice guy, but you know, not like that." Jane swallowed a gulp of her beer to cover her babbling.

He put a hand over his heart, looking wounded. "Very well, my lady. If you should ever change your mind -" Catching the other woman's glance, he cleared his throat. "I shall be on my very best behavior," he promised.

He went to join his companions across the room. The shield-maiden sat next to Jane in his place, her scabbard bumping against the ground, as if she intended to be Jane's guard.

"You didn't have to do that," said Jane.

The woman shrugged. "I forget how it is for other women sometimes. My apologies if the interference was unnecessary, but you looked reluctant, and men don't usually understand how difficult they are being." She said this all in a matter-of-fact tone.

It was true enough. Saying yes would come with complications, but saying no would come with an entirely different set, and just as complicated. Jane sighed. "No, it's fine. Thanks, by the way." She took an apple slice from the tray he had left behind, along with some cheese.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, watching the men get rowdier. Something she'd said niggled at the back of Jane's mind, until she was able to chase it down and pin it.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

There was a pause; she saw the woman's eyes flick up toward the men - toward Erik in particular, Jane thought. "Quite far away. Why do you ask?"

"What you said - 'how it is for other women.' How is it for women where you're from?"

"Men and women are free to lay with whomever they choose without censure or shame. Well, not if they're married. But you know what I mean."

No, Jane could barely imagine a world like that. "Are there a lot of shield-maidens, too?" she asked, gesturing toward the sword.

She made a face at that. "No, that part's about the same. Much as I've tried to change it."

"Well, they seem very scared of you. That's something."

"As they should be," she said with mock-bravado, turning and smiling conspiratorially. "I'm glad to have met you, Jane Fosterdottir."

Jane found herself returning the smile, bright and uncomplicated. "You too, Lady Sif."

Later that night, Jane dozed, the ale making her sleep in fits and starts. Eventually she got the impression that everyone quieted down somewhat. Later, much later, she would remember waking briefly to look at Erik and the travelers, sitting in a circle, looking very serious and not in the business of making merry at all. She couldn't overhear their conversations, just the gentle whisper of their hushed tones drifting toward her from the other side of the fire. Their faces, so lovely, were lit by firelight, but marred by frowns.

 

 

The travelers stayed only a couple more days before moving on. Life had slipped back into its normal level of drudgery before she returned for the morning meal one day and -

There was a frost giant in the house.

Jane nearly screamed. Erik half-rose from his seat next to the fire, holding out a hand to reassure her - that was the only thing that stopped her. Trying to catch her breath, she circled warily over to Erik's side of the fire, keeping an eye on the Jotun.

Unless there was another smirking runt giant, it was Prince Loki.

"So nice of you to join us," he practically purred, his head tilting to the side. He was lounging, leaning back on his hands with his legs spread. As if he hadn't a care in the world.

Jane didn't say anything, instead looking to Erik, who shrugged helplessly. "Jane," Erik said, "I want you to know that, whatever he says, you don't have to -"

"Ah-ah-ah," interrupted Loki. "Jane, I've been trying to bargain with Erik here, and we simply cannot come to an agreement. What do you think your personal worth is?"

"My personal -" said Jane blankly. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Perhaps I should start from the beginning," the prince said, falsely solicitous. "I have come to the realization that your apology was not sufficient to balm my aggrieved pride, Jane Fosterdottir." There it was again: her name like little needles.

"I didn't even offend you," protested Jane. Quietly Erik groaned beside her. "It was your guard -"

"My pride on behalf of my retinue," he self-corrected swiftly, smiling with all his teeth. "My point is, while I'm still patient enough to try to make it, that you owe me."

Jane's heart started to beat very quickly. "What do I owe you?"

"Well, that's the trouble. What I want, Jane, is for you to enter my service as my thrall."

"Your service," Jane repeated, still processing.

He appeared to grow impatient. "I will accept your submission willingly or unwillingly, by the way. You are quite lucky, you know," he added petulantly, "that I did not just snatch you from your duties wherever you were and claim you by my right as a prince."

Lucky. _Lucky._ The nerve of him.

Finally Jane's brain caught up to the situation. "You were waiting for me because you couldn't agree on a price," she guessed, glancing at Erik for confirmation. He shook his head, and his eyes looked red around the rims.

Loki waved a bored hand. "He insisted you were priceless, and that you were free to make your own choices, and a load of similar sentimental nonsense. I attempted to remind him of our respective stations, but he was quite insistent. Treasonously so, _some_ might say," he added, his tone suggesting the hint of a threat.

Jane studied him for a moment, noting the long knife at his side. He might look relaxed now, but he wasn't like the other frost giants they'd known; he wouldn't be willing to indulge humans based on their production value. He was a prince, accustomed to having his every whim catered to, and if he didn't get what he wanted – Jane didn't want to think about what would happen in that situation. Her choices were awful – but perhaps one choice was marginally less awful than the other, no matter how it constricted her heart to think of it.

"What price were you offering?" she asked, before her nerves failed her.

He told her.

"Double it," she said, thinking quickly. Loki's eyebrows rose, presumably at her insolence. "And give me two days every week where I can come home to work with Erik. I'll go willingly."

Erik began his quiet protesting again; Jane shushed him. Loki was staring at her as though she were a creature he'd never seen before, but he didn't seem upset. In fact, she thought the opposite might be true, confusing as it was – she could see the corner of his mouth curling up as he leaned forward, looking a little hungry.

"And why should I indulge your demands, Jane Fosterdottir?"

"Because the village needs me," she said quickly. "I do at least half the work here, designing and building and maintaining the mills and threshing machines - sorry, Erik, but it's true. Erik has to be compensated for the loss, and the village needs me to run smoothly. To serve the royal family of Jotunheim, of course," she added.

Loki looked as if he were trying not to laugh, pressing his lips together. "For the royal family of Jotunheim. Of course. You make a fine argument, for a Midgardian."

"Jane," Erik said again, quietly, and she looked down at him. "I'm sorry, I never would -"

Jane laid a hand on his shoulder, willing him to be quiet, or she might lose it, too. So she didn't look at him as she whispered, "It's okay, Erik." She heard a choking noise below her.

"Enough of this," said the prince sharply. He flung several coins in Erik's direction, and they landed in the dirt and furs, as Erik stared, open mouthed.

Loki strode across the room, covering it in two strides, and seized Jane by the wrist, his grip cold and tight, pulling her toward him. This close, she could see the lines on his skin, criss-crossing in strange patterns, and the awful depth of his red eyes. He bared his teeth at her in a grin. "Now, Jane -"

Then she was enveloped in a cold darkness, with no sensation, and she really did scream.

 

 

There was nothing, a great, awful gaping nothing. No sensation, no sound, no sight. Her sense of self was fading fast.

And then there was cold, penetrating down to her bones.

Jane hadn't realized she was screaming until Loki shoved her, and she stumbled, her breath catching.

"Open your eyes," she heard from above. Relentless, pitiless. She hadn't even realized her eyes were closed. When she opened them, there was - whiteness, blank, until she realized that was the snow and those were her feet, her knees, her hands in front of her. Her hands that would quickly freeze.

Jane heaved in a great gasp of air, and forced herself upright. Her senses were quickly adjusting, registering her surroundings - they were out of doors, in the cold, the landscape unfamiliar, and Loki had - what? Brought her here?

"What did you do?" she gasped, her words nearly lost on the wind. "What did you _do_?"

He was smiling, still smiling, the asshole. "Why, Jane. Have you never seen the smallest bit of magic?"

Jane gritted her teeth – against the cold and against him. "Where are we?"

"Where are we, _your highness_ ," he corrected, as if she were a child and he her patient tutor.

 _Fuck_ him. She was going to die if she didn't get under a roof and soon. Rather than play his little game, Jane began stomping off. She didn't know where she was going, where the village was in relation to where they were now - she just knew that anywhere, literally anywhere, would be better than here, with _him_.

Every direction looked mostly the same, though, the wind blurring her vision.

"Please, run. I could use the entertainment," she heard, his voice cutting through the wind as if it were nothing.

There were mountains to the west, and they looked familiar - she must not have gone too far away, perhaps even only a few miles –

Jane stumbled, sinking one knee into the soft snow, and then the other. She felt dizzy, her head spinning. It wasn't _that_ cold, she knew rationally, and she hadn't even been outside long enough to go hypothermic yet, even with the surprise –

Her vision began to go white around the edges; she tried to focus, to make out the outline of what was in front of her, but her eyes failed her. "I neglected to mention the side-effects," she heard from behind her, dimly, through the roar, and then she passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter illustrated by paynesgrey's wonderful art!

The first evidence that she was beginning to wake up was the headache sitting behind her eyes, pulsing and blood-hot. She groaned, feeling her breath condense in the cold air in front of her face. The chill was almost an antidote to the pain - maybe there was something she could press her face against -

Rolling over onto her belly, Jane found herself wrapped in thick furs, unfamiliar furs. That set off an alarm in her head: she wasn't at home, so where could she . . .

Her sense of apprehension built, waking her and making her more alert. The furs were warm, but the air around her and the surface beneath her were cold. Her nose had begun to go numb; she tried, with partial success, to rub some feeling into it. The cocoon of furs ended not far away, she realized, and pushed herself up to her elbows to look.

The wood beneath her was as dark as the night sky, almost blue - though she had never seen a blue tree before, and the thought was silly, but she couldn't shake it - and when she ran her fingers over the grain, she realized it was almost as cold as ice, and snatched her hand away. Her heart clenched with anxiety. Pulling the furs about her shoulders, Jane sat up.

At first she thought she was in a white room; she had never seen such a thing before. But as she glanced around, trying to get her bearings, she realized it wasn't _white_ exactly - the walls reflected light, glittering and moving gently. When she reached out to press a hand against the nearest wall, though, she realized: she was in a room made of _ice_.

It made sense, she thought dimly, remembering Loki and their deal. He must have taken her to one of the Jotuns' palaces of ice. Perhaps _the_ palace. She felt dizzy again, but she wasn't sure whether it the same as before, or just because she felt overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed, she decided, taking a few deep breaths and looking around more carefully. The room was large - it looked like a bedchamber, although she couldn't say she knew anything of Jotun architecture. The walls were high, spanning the height of three men or more, which made sense when she thought about it; the frost giants were so tall. She had been lying in a sleeping space much larger than the one she was used to, in a pile of huge, thick, silvery furs. The dark wood that she had marveled over earlier was repeated in the bookshelves and other furniture.

Jane pulled the fur more tightly over her shoulders, trying to repress a shiver. Perhaps he had put her in some chambers until she woke up - and then what? What was he planning to do with her, she wondered. He was a prince, he couldn't want for servants, and she was just an ordinary human, not valuable at all.

A possibility occurred to her that she hadn't thought of before. What if this was _his_ bed – what if he _wanted_ her? A shudder ran down her spine. She hadn't thought of it before; although there were lewd jokes about it, as there were about every awful thing the frost giants could do to her people, in truth they were much too large to make relations with humans possible. But Loki was nearly the size of humans - surely he didn't want her, hadn't taken her for -

Bile rose in her throat as she contemplated the possibility. With dread, as if she didn't want to know the answer, Jane slipped her hand between her legs and checked – she wasn't slick, with blood or spend or anything else. And, she realized, she didn't _feel_ like anything had happened, and since it had been a few years, that confirmed it for her. She slumped in relief.

Pushing her hands into her armpits, Jane shed the furs and rose reluctantly into the frosty atmosphere of the room. Her nose was getting number by the minute.

Would he come looking for her? He had presumably left her here, which seemed to indicate that he wanted her alive at least a little. And if she tried to escape, to find her way back to the village, he would retaliate against her - or, worse, against Erik. She had made a deal with him for Erik's benefit. Remembering that fact did not ease her nerves.

Maybe she could find another servant in the palace; there had to be some around, especially now with the arrival of royalty. They could tell her what to do, what was expected of her. Even though she wasn't looking forward to washing the prince's dirty clothes or scrubbing the palace's floors, it seemed like the best plan. With their help, she might even be able to avoid him as much as possible.

The only doors out of the room were huge and heavy-looking, rising far above Jane's head. They did not look barred, though, she thought with hope.

Jane took hold of one of the handles, an ornate silver monstrosity that was at just the right height for her – and that was strange, she realized, given the frost giants' height – but that thought was eclipsed when she couldn't move the door an inch, not even when she braced herself and put all her weight into it, as if she were herding a particularly stubborn goat. And the metal was cold, too; it almost burned her hands through her apron before she was forced to let go.

As she stood contemplating the door, all of a sudden it _moved_ \- and it wasn't her, wasn't her strength making it groan and heave. Quickly she backed away, looking for cover in a panic – but there was no place to hide, and whoever it was had likely been sent for her.

It was Loki.

Jane looked up, meeting his gaze reluctantly. She didn't know whether there was some etiquette, some protocol she should follow, so she didn't do or say anything, waiting with bated breath.

"Awake at last, I see," he said, his tone making it clear he was only bored and didn't really care. Striding over to the bookcase, he began to peruse the titles there. Jane tried not to look at him too closely, but her curiosity overcame her: he was wearing very little, in the typical fashion of frost giants. Just a fur loincloth and some jewelry; all ornamentation, as they seemed to need no protection from the elements. With his back bared to her, she could see the pale lines rising above his flesh – they looked like more than just tattoos, more like ash-scars or even part of his living skin. Were they rough or smooth to the touch, she wondered – how strange it must be.

She crossed her arms over herself, and made herself speak. "Your highness?"

"Mmm?" His tone was careless. "Oh. Right. You."

"If you would show me to the servants' quarters . . ." she suggested, a hint of question in her voice.

Loki laughed softly. It chilled Jane down to her bones, more than the walls of ice ever could. She wished, suddenly, that she could see his face; for all that it was a monster's face, it would be better than this show of carelessness and inattention. "You're to be my personal thrall," he said, a finger tracing the spine of one of his books. "You'll not quarter with the riffraff. I think you'd find it a bit uncomfortable there, anyway."

"I'm already uncomfortable," she blurted. The words formed puffs of frozen, condensed air in front of her face.

"Oh?" The false politeness in his tone set her teeth on edge.

"I'm going to freeze to death," she said more bluntly, rubbing her nose with one hand, and then cupping it around her mouth to warm it up.

"That would be quite messy and inconvenient," he said agreeably, all his attention on his tomes. "Not that we Jotuns are averse to such qualities, necessarily. . . ."

Pressing her lips together, Jane deliberated. "I've heard you're a talented sorcerer," she said tentatively.

He finally chose a book, plucking it from the case and turning to her with what seemed like agonizingly deliberate slowness. "My reputation has preceded me, I see." He tilted his head and leaned back against the shelves, as if he were waiting for her to say, or do, something – what, she had no idea. Was he going to make her _ask_? She couldn't even be sure he would help her if she did; perhaps he would find it justice for his wounded ego to let her slowly freeze to death while he'd watched, despite the deal they'd struck. After all, it wasn't as though she was able to enforce it.

While she was waiting, the cold continued to creep up her arms and pinch her face. The thought of _asking_ the prince for anything, though, rankled something deep inside her, the heat of her anger flaring out of her core and warming her. Without a word, Jane slipped back into the furs she'd awoken in. There was precious little of her body heat left, she mourned as she tucked the edges around her.

From above her, and muffled, there was a laugh. "Do you intend to warm my bed? I did not expect that. What a welcome surprise, little Jane."

 _His_ bed? Under the pelt Jane felt her face heat up. Of course it was; it was his room, after all. Her embarrassment warred with her pride.

Relentlessly she felt one of the furs pulled away from her, exposing her face. Hastily she sat up, not wanting to face him lying down.

"Are all Midgardians as delicate as you?" he asked with distaste, fetching a chair and pulling it up to the bed. It was human-sized, or rather Loki-sized; the quarters must have been specially designed for him. He had spread the book open on his lap, Jane noticed, though she was unable to read any of the runes on the exposed pages.

Jane pressed her lips into a thin line and refused to answer.

"And as stubborn, I see," he added without looking up, wetting one finger and flicking through pages. A token that she hadn't noticed before hung from his other hand. "A sense of pride thoroughly disproportionate to your frame."

"Isn't it your frame too?" Jane's mouth moved stiffly around the words, but she couldn't resist the barb. Perhaps the cold was affecting her mind.

Faster than she could see, the hand with the token came up to grab her by the neck, the muscles in his arms flexing. In her shock she tried to draw in a deep breath, but found she couldn't; it hurt too much, a sharp pain that made her head swim. He glared at her sharply, his lips drawing back into a hiss. The red of his eyes seemed even more malevolent than usual, and Jane couldn't look away from his gaze. She'd hit on something, she thought with both fear and fascination; it was the first true emotion she'd observed from him.

"Jane," he said, and though his tone was mild, she had the sense of him putting all his effort into holding back his anger. "It is true, I am small for a Jotun. When I was born, my father, the King, set me out in the temple to die. However, I failed to do what was expected of me, as you can see. I am also the most powerful sorcerer Jotunheim has witnessed in more than a thousand years. I can walk on the hidden pathways that link the realms; I can change my form; I can cast illusions so that for the remainder of your wretched existence, you see only your nightmares come to life." His smile was horrible. "You're here because I wish it. It would be unwise to make me wish for something else."

Jane could barely nod over his grip on her neck, but the tiny, frantic gesture seemed to satisfy him, and he let her go. She slumped to her knees, taking a deep and instinctive breath and then fighting back tears as it burned. Raising her hand to her throat and exploring the skin there tenderly, she thought faintly that there would be bruises by the next day.

As her eyes watered, she didn't notice as Loki's hand rose again, this time to force open her mouth. She made a sound of protest and panic, despite the resulting burn in her throat, and tried to pull away.

Her paltry attempts to fight him off seemed to produce only amusement. "Relax. I could be taking your blood instead. Or perhaps . . . you would prefer another bodily fluid?" Jane flushed in anger. "Yes, I thought not." One of his fingers, cold and merciless, pushed into her mouth and swiped none too gently under her tongue. Fighting the urge to bite down on it, she kept as still as possible until the offending digit was removed.

Jane was too busy wiping her mouth – and her eyes, damn them – against the furs to notice exactly what he did with it, but there was a moment of silence, and then a strange purple glow around the token he'd been holding. It faded almost immediately, though she thought it might have sunk into the thing itself. It was made of bleached bone, carved into an elaborate design that looked like a snowflake, and hung from a knotted leather cord.

"There," said Loki with satisfaction. Leaning up out of his chair, he looped it over her head so that it hung like a necklace.

As Jane pulled her hair out from beneath it, the tips of her fingers began to tingle alarmingly. She stared at one hand, but nothing looked unusual; her fingers had been numb before and it was as though they were now coming back to life. The sensation was almost painful in its intensity for a few seconds before it faded, and Jane felt like she had stepped into a house that was warded against winter.

"How did you do that?" she breathed, and though her lips were now warm, her words still formed ice crystals in the air. "Magic?"

Loki preened under her amazement, leaning back in his chair. "I had to make it up," he confessed with false humility. "It is not the usual way of the frost giants to keep a creature warm, after all."

When she pressed her hand against the wood at her side, furs falling away, it no longer felt cold – it was the temperature of her body. But something he'd said caught her attention, and she balked. "You made it up? Isn't that dangerous? What if something had gone wrong?"

"I suppose," he said, off-hand. Catching the outrage in her expression, he added, with an air of offended pique, "But I have given you a gift, and you haven't thanked me."

He was going to be insufferable. Jane gritted her teeth. "Thank you, your highness."

"That's twice now that you owe me."

 _Because_ you _set it up that way,_ seethed Jane silently. Her hand came up to rub her fingers over the design in the pendant, over its sharp edges and fine filigree. "Well, what is this, anyway?"

He seemed to drink in her curiosity. Leaning forward to catch the pendant, enclosing her hand in his larger one, Loki smiled. "It will keep you warm; you must not take it off. It is one of the sigils of the house of Laufey. All will recognize it; it marks you as my property."

His face was so close to hers that she could feel the cold huffs of air from his breath, raising goosebumps on her skin. Loki's eyes drifted lower, catching on her mouth, and he didn't move away, nor did he let go of the pendant and her hand. The very tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lip, and his eyes, bright red though they were, seemed to darken as he regarded her.

A sudden spike of fear left Jane dizzy. Surely he wasn't going to – 

Instinctively she jerked away from him, clutching the pendant too tightly, so that she could feel its pricks like needles all along her palm.

"Frightened, are you? Of me?" He licked his lips again, only this time, she thought, deliberately. She couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination.

Jane wasn't even sure it was a real question, so she didn't say anything, and held her breath.

"It would be unwise to forget," he added in a low voice, "that you agreed to this, agreed to be mine. Whatsoever that entailed." Abruptly his tone shifted to become careless. Pretending or just that capricious? "Luckily for you, I do believe there's somewhere I have to be."

Jane let out her breath, trying to make her relief not so evident.

He smiled the smile of a predator. "I'll keep thinking about how you can repay me for my assistance while I'm away."

Her relief vanished. Taking hold of her bloodied hand, Loki stood up suddenly and swept a bow over her hand. In a mockery of chivalry, Loki pressed a dry kiss to her knuckles. Even though his charm protected her, she couldn't help the shiver that ran through her.

"I don't think it would be wise for you to accompany me, my lady. It's not safe." His tone was so smooth and considerate she _knew_ he was making fun of her; she snatched her hand away.

Loki's laugh seemed to echo in her ears even after he'd swept out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

The prince was maddeningly silent about what exactly her duties entailed; over the next few days, he didn't send her to do any of the usual chores, like laundry or cookery, and he kept his word about not quartering her with the other servants – for good or for bad, Jane thought sourly.

Instead, after making several suggestive remarks about sharing his bed, he had set her in a small chamber off his main rooms. His own rooms were spacious, larger than any longhouse she'd ever seen in her life.

Including, Jane discovered, an enormous personal library.

Erik kept books, mostly older volumes of engineering designs and notes, and Jane had done copying for him whenever one was fading too fast or falling apart and they could get their hands on a bit of paper. But by and large books were a rare occurrence in her life.

So she could not quite hide her awe and pleasure when Loki retrieved several enormous volumes via magic from a room she'd not yet visited. The books floated through an open door at the gesture of his hand, seemingly without thought, and stacked themselves on the table in front of them.

Her first thought was that they were _huge_. Of course they would be proportional to the giants' size, now that she was thinking about it, but it didn't erase her sense of wonder. They looked almost comical next to Loki's smaller form - one of those books would come up well past his knee standing up. The volumes were clothbound, looking aged and worn but much more well preserved than anything she'd laid eyes on.

Quietly she watched as Loki flicked through the pages of one work, pausing only now and then to lick his finger, apparently unable to find what he was looking for. From across the table (even leaning forward as much as she could without seeming overeager), and looking at the book upside-down, Jane could not read it, but could see the large, unfamiliar runes and colorful illustrations as the pages passed by.

He must have caught her avid interest, though, because his gaze met hers and he smiled. She was starting to become familiar with his smiles: the mocking one he bestowed on his opponents in the giants' sparring field, the cruel, triumphant one he donned after winning, which he usually did one way or another, and the teasing one he seemed to reserve just for her, one that broadcast his enjoyment of needling her. This was one of the latter.

"Do you fancy yourself a scholar, Jane Fosterdottir?" He leaned back in his chair, seeming to forget about the book completely.

Jane frowned, pressing her lips together. It sounded like an innocent question, but there were no innocent questions with Loki. "I can read and write, and draw technical designs," she replied.

"Ah, yes. I have seen the marvelous feats of engineering your people call 'machines.' Truly, you have progressed very little past the invention of the wheel. A poor showing by your race, Jane."

Even though he was obviously trying to get a rise out of her, Jane's hackles rose. Even after less than a week with Loki, it was already a predictable cycle. " _Maybe,_ " she said, nearly snapping, "we would have done better _on our own._ " Without, she nearly added, a bunch of giants stomping around making sure humans were under control. She wondered, as she sometimes did, if Asgardians had the same problems under Jotun rule, or if their situation was different.

He caught her implied meaning anyway. "How could you disparage the gifts of my people so cruelly, Jane? And after all we have done for you . . ."

She barely stopped herself from snorting at that.

"And yet," he continued with another pointed smile, "you seem so curious about my reading."

"No, I'm not." It was futile. They both knew she was lying.

He studied her for a moment longer, and then smiled. "It must be difficult for you, so hungry for knowledge. Now if you just agree to do something for me, perhaps I'll consider changing your situation."

Jane was starting to get a sense of him, and whatever he had planned, he would never let it go.

"I never did decide, you know," he continued.

"Decide what? Your highness," she tacked on hastily.

"What you can do for me."

"Do for you?" Was she only capable of repeating him with questions?

"Because you owe me," he said impatiently, slamming his book shut with a thump.

Jane's cheeks burned under his gaze, but she refused to look away. His smirk threatened something, and she just knew it would be something awful.

He pursed his lips and looked her over – a long, lingering look that seemed to trace over every contour from head to toe. Jane's fingers tightened in the fabric by her side. Critical and assessing, his eyes seemed to penetrate even under layers of linen. Finally he met her gaze again.

"I've decided," he said, an eager glint in his eye that Jane didn't like at all.

Would he demand her body, finally? Jane found she couldn't stop thinking about it, and couldn't quite squash down the feeling of being hunted. He was a prince, one used to getting what he wanted, to having his whims indulged - maybe he'd just decided the trouble wasn't worth it, that he was tired of waiting. She didn't know whether he would be rough or gentle or careless, what he would do with her when he was finished, and though she ran over the different possibilities in her mind every day, she honestly couldn't say what she would prefer.

His voice broke through her fevered imaginings. "Frightened?" He sounded amused by the prospect, and Jane hated him a little bit more. She pressed her lips together in lieu of a response.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "You have nothing to fear from me."

( _But you're_ Loki, she thought and didn't say.)

"I have been thinking. Your attire is entirely unsuitable." He waved an all-encompassing hand at her.

"My attire," she repeated slowly. Her _attire_ was entirely normal Midgardian clothes. Then it struck her that that might be the problem. "You want me to wear something else?"

A flash of white as he bit down, just so, into his bottom lip. He was beginning to look excited, she realized. "Yes. That is what I want. And I have just the thing."

So he must have been planning it. It couldn't be that awful, she reasoned with herself; he wasn't asking her to walk around naked or anything. Still, her nerves must have shown, because his smile was predatory and pleased.

"You're living here, under my rule, amongst Jotuns. Don't you think it's better to dress more appropriately?"

He wanted her to dress like a frost giant? Jane hadn't ever seen the fashion of a highborn giantess, but from the way Loki was looking at her, she thought she might not like it, and her heart sank. And the fact that it would be a highborn's . . . he couldn't dress her in servants' clothes? She cringed to think of what the other giants would say if they saw her.

"I've taken the liberty of having such a dress . . . altered to fit your size," he continued, as though he was being so generous.

Jane was still fingering the pendant, watching him mistrustfully. "What does it look like?" she asked finally, cautiously.

Grinning, Loki opened a chest and pulled something out of it – at first Jane could see nothing but a white, shimmering cloth, not very large, and the soft sound of gemstones clinking together.

Her mouth fell open, in rage or horror. "That's not a dress," she said instinctively, before her brain caught up with her mouth. "That's a . . . washcloth."

"I assure you, it's a very real dress." She could tell he was fighting to look serious, but the corners of his mouth kept turning up, giving away the game.

She cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner; the frost giants never dressed in much, whether male or female, and the general fashion regardless of class was to be decorative and ornamental rather than modest. She'd never seen a highborn giantess, but she could only imagine what that little thing did - or didn't - cover, and the idea of walking around in it, outside . . . there were no words. Jane twisted the linen of her skirt in her fingers and tried not to look panicked. Or homicidal.

"Well?" Loki asked after several moments, casually and innocently, as though he could have no idea what was wrong. In one hand he held out the scrap of fabric in her direction.

Gritting her teeth, Jane didn't move. "Well what?" she said instead. She seized on a thought: if she could stall him long enough, maybe he would forget about it, or the shine of his joke would fade, or perhaps even she could make him angry enough to forget about it for the moment.

"You haven't thanked me, or taken my gift." His pout looked thoroughly feigned.

"Your gift?" repeated Jane, her voice rising. "Your _gift_?"

"I look only to your comfort," he said, sounding mock-wounded, with his free hand over his heart. Like he even _had_ one, she thought furiously. "Dearest Jane, your life has changed fundamentally. You are no longer where you were, or even _what_ you were. At a certain point, you must accept that, and look to the future. _Your_ future."

In other words, him. His impression of a concerned mentor so ill-disguised his sneer of triumph that Jane almost screamed.

"I don't even believe that's a dress," she said instead, crossing her arms.

His hand picked through the sheer layers seemingly at random, until he was holding it by two scraps. At that angle - it did look a little more like clothing, she had to admit, two parts to go over her shoulders and a skirt, or at least a fraction of one.

"I think that's it, anyway," said Loki carelessly. "I've only worn it once."

That did shut Jane's mouth with a snap, as she stared at him. Finding her voice, she asked faintly, "You wore that?"

"I can change my form at will," he said, with a glint in his eye, another thing he wasn't telling her. "Of course, it's quite improper for a prince to engage in such tomfoolery."

Like everything else about him.

"Now," he said, and his tone was serious and more menacing. "Jane, my patience is wearing thin, and I am perfectly willing to do it myself if necessary, so please, do as I say."

Jane shuddered at the thought of his magic crawling and prickling over her skin. Or his hands, as he did it himself.

That decided it for her. Saying nothing, she strode forward and snatched the cloth from his hands, the edge of a jewel biting into her finger. Loki grinned down at her, over his nose, and even though he was only two hand-spans taller than her, the way he set his shoulders and looked down made him tower over her. He sure did seem to enjoy being taller than her, she thought with disgust, probably because he was used to looking up all the time with his own people. _Good,_ she thought viciously, _I hope they humiliate him at every possibility._

"Turn around," she said. The dress felt as insubstantial as a cloud in her hands; she tried not to think about it.

Loki only raised an eyebrow. "Giving orders, are we?"

"I said I'd do it," she snapped, the edges of her patience fraying. _Books. Think of the books._ "So just _turn around_."

"Who's the master and the slave here, Jane Foster? Have you forgotten that you belong to me? Of course," he said with a chuckle, and did indeed turn away, his hands clasped behind his back, "it's not as though you'll have much modesty left in a few moments anyway. I suppose I can indulge your foolish neurosis temporarily."

Ugh.

It took Jane a few minutes to work up the nerve to start shedding clothes - she thought it would be rather like him to say he wouldn't look and then go back on his word - but as soon as she pulled the first tie loose, she moved as quickly as possible, mindful of his well-demonstrated impatience. Her own layers of clothing she folded and placed, one by one, on a chair.

It took a moment to figure out again where the top of the outfit and all the appropriate holes were, but then she did, and it was only a few seconds to pull the sheer, slippery fabric up over her body in what she _thought_ was the correct arrangement.

There was no mirror in Loki's chambers, so Jane could only look down at herself and guess. Two strips of silk ran over her breasts and behind her neck, where they met a third running down her back. (Jane hoped, with everything that was in her, that she did not have the dress on backward.) They were all attached to a skirt that didn't even come down to her knees, it was so short.

There was no loincloth or underwear, but fortunately - or "fortunately" - it was a bit less transparent than the rest of the getup. She tugged a string of jewels into place over her shoulder and nervously adjusted Loki's talisman. It hung between her breasts.

With a start, Jane realized that her nipples were hard and visible through the fabric. She wasn't even cold, she fumed, it wasn't _fair._

There was a little extra give in the fabric, though so she tried to fold it over in a way that looked natural but disguised her body's betrayal. In multiple layers, the fabric _was_ a little more opaque. It was hard to tell from her angle of vision - but it might be okay.

Satisfied, or as much as she was going to be, Jane stopped fussing. But she didn't say anything. Let him stew, she thought with petty satisfaction.

But only a few more seconds passed before Loki spoke. "Are you ready for your display, Jane Fosterdottir?" But he was already turning around before she could reply.

The anticipatory glee in his expression flickered away into something closer to surprise, eyes widening and lips parting ever so slightly. That face was gone almost immediately, though, slipping into a frown as he studied her, lips pursed. Several long moments passed while Jane tried not to fidget with herself.

"Well," he said with quiet mirth, almost to himself. "What do we have here?"

His tone balanced amusement and admiration. In two long strides he covered the distance between them, and Jane was barely able to take a single small step back as he reached for her.

All he did was gather up her braid in one hand, untying the string and letting it fall to the floor, and then combing his fingers through the braid until her hair was loose. She didn't dare move in case he should brush her skin.

Regarding her thoughtfully, he reached behind her head for some of the fabric she'd folded back and pulled it over her head until it became a hood. A string of gems weighted it and pulled it down so that they rested against her forehead.

Loki was biting his lip just so as he looked down at her, before she realized that his movements had disrupted her careful arrangements. The folds she'd made with the fabric had fallen away, so that the outline of her nipples was clear against the transparent cloth.

Her eyes darted away immediately, hoping he wouldn't notice. But it was too late, of course. His gaze fixed low on her, and the tip of his tongue darted out. Jane felt something low curl in her belly at the sight of it.

His hand trailed down the fabric, so lightly that she should barely feel it, but all the more significant for it. The tip of his finger traced over the slope of her breast slowly. It was so slow, Jane was holding her breath, until his nail scraped over her hard nipple. She was sensitive under the silk, and she closed her eyes halfway against the sensation.

Then, before she could shove him away, his thumb came up to _pinch_ her, unexpectedly hard, and roll her nipple between his fingers.

She gasped, feeling the spike of pain all the way down her spine, and pulled away from him in a few jerky steps.

"That completes the picture, I think," he said, and though his tone was mild, he smirked. Jane wrapped her arms around herself and hung back, caught between anger and humiliation. She couldn't quite meet his eyes.

He didn't make any effort to cross the new distance between them, though, just laughed and took his leave.

After he'd been gone for several minutes, Jane picked up the string he'd dropped on the floor. Even as she gathered her hair back up and began re-braiding it, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had been knocked out of place that she couldn't put back.


	6. Chapter 6

"Couldn't find someone his own size, I expect," she heard one giant say, to a rumble of nervous laughter from the others. Jane stiffened, casting Loki a look out of the corner of her eye. If only he didn't insist on disguising the sound of their footsteps wherever they went – he thought it was more fun this way.

Loki's idea of "fun," like everything else about him, was seriously twisted.

"Who else would he find to fuck?" the giant continued. A collective shrug like a landslide followed, and the tittering was a little less nervous. _Uh-oh,_ Jane thought.

Loki's eyes narrowed, but he didn't lash out as Jane had expected him to. But she could see his shoulders lean forward as he moved with more purpose.

Wrapping her arms around herself, even though she wasn't cold, Jane hissed, "Whatever you're thinking about doing, _don't_ -"

Ignoring her completely, Loki cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up at the gathering: "Is no one fighting today?" His voice was magically magnified so that it carried all the way with no problem.

A slew of giant blue heads turned to them like an avalanche, and even though the Jotun faces were hard for Jane to read, she could sense the wave of agitation and fear that swept over them. Not a few pairs of red eyes turned to regard her as well: some uneasy, some contemptuous, others dismissive.

Part of the reaction, Jane knew, was the outfit; though she hadn't put her finger on quite why, it seemed to elicit annoyance and even anger whenever she wore it around the other giants, much different from Loki's amusement. She'd asked Loki, but only received laughter in return. But she thought there might be something else to it as well, her own new position or the way Loki "favored" her (something she'd overheard from one of the giants, but couldn't quite believe).

Some foot-shuffling followed Loki's question, but no words.

Loki seemed to take particular pleasure in casting his gaze around the group, before settling on the giant who'd spoken, as if by chance. "Svend, shall we kick off the fun?"

The giant in question grimaced – he knew what was happening - but nodded his assent reluctantly. Gravelly murmuring began.

Jane bit her lip. Even though she didn't feel any sympathy for the giants, she wasn't looking forward to whatever Loki had planned to punish them. Whatever it was, it would probably be humiliating. And violent. He had demonstrated his willingness to kill her over a slight (she almost reached up to touch her throat at the memory; it had been three days before swallowing had not hurt anymore). Instead her hand settled at her pendant, and she toyed with it.

More than one of the giants cast angry looks her way, as if this were _her_ fault; Jane tightened her arms around herself and avoided their bloody stares determinedly.

She was ankle-deep in soft snow, and there was nowhere for her to sit or rest. She'd learned the hard way that the snow was still wet even if its chill couldn't touch her, so she hung back and watched the fight begin.

Loki and Svend had begun circling each other, their hands hooked into claws. Jane had only seen a few of these matches, but she knew that they were as much about sorcery skills as they were about brute fighting force. The frost giants had never developed tool-weapons the way humans had; they hadn't needed them. Instead, their magical abilities allowed them to shape the ice as they saw fit – here a frozen blade, there a hammer of ice, sometimes shields or projectiles.

They were much faster creatures than humans, so that these matches and tournaments blurred together to Jane's eyes. But she still saw a few things.

Loki, for all his sensitivity about his size, used it to his advantage; even Jane could see that Svend wasn't used to looking down at his opponent. In his other matches Loki had used that to his full advantage, as well as the ability to hide in the other giants' blind spots or dart between their feet.

Frissons of ice curled and stretched through the air between them, a promise of the violence to come.

Svend was understandably wary, watching Loki through narrowed eyes and clearly waiting for him to make the first move.

Loki, on the other hand, moved with a grace so casual he almost didn't seem to be in a fight at all.

Svend took a tentative shot, testing Loki, who dodged the slice easily, and then sprung.

From there, the fight was very short and very brutal. Jane could only see a flurry of bodies and ice, but in a few moments Svend was pinned in an uncomfortable position with Loki's blade at his throat.

"You all have gotten soft in the absence of a ruler," said Loki, who wasn't even out of breath. "And more foolish, too, to talk where anyone could hear you."

The giant licked his lips, hesitating. "I apologize, your highness," he said carefully, with a note of formality that Jane was becoming familiar with from her exposure to the Jotuns. Only the barest hint of resentment remained in his voice, almost completely hidden. "I will never speak of your companion in that way again." His eyes bored into Jane's as he spoke; she shuddered.

Suddenly Loki laughed and released him, though Svend stayed down, looking cautious. "Good Svend," said the prince in a much more cheerful tone of voice, "what do I care about the reputation of a whore?"

Jane could only gape.

"However," Loki continued, leaning down to speak in Svend's ear, "if you ever doubt my sexual prowess, please do feel free to consult your wife. I'm sure she would be happy to share the details with you."

The small crowd laughed just as easily for Loki as they had for Svend, though still nervously; he'd managed to turn it around. Loki grinned at them all, in a flash of white teeth.

But as he made to return to the castle he did not turn to speak or even look at Jane once; she could only scramble to keep up.

  
  


"Get up," Loki said from somewhere above her. Jane groaned and covered her head with the furs. Of course, he pulled them away.

"What?" demanded Jane. It felt too early in the morning even for her.

"We're going somewhere," he said impatiently. Apparently, this wasn't going to be one of those days where he ignored her existence. Lucky Jane. 

He made her pack food, some of his books and paper and writing utensils, along with a few other sundries; she could at least be grateful he'd decided he didn't want to watch her struggle with the heavy pack this time.

Then he held out one hand to her, and she knew what was coming. Jane took his hand in dread; she hadn't done this since the day she'd come here, and she hadn't forgotten how horrible she'd felt afterward.

It was just as awful as she remembered: darkness tightening around her, as if she were being squeezed through a hole. They emerged on the other side with a pop.

At first she didn't understand where they were; it was still dark, but not dark enough they were underground. Then it hit her.

"It's the middle of the night!" she hissed. Even though she couldn't feel the cold on her skin, her breath crystallized in front of her face in a series of obscuring puffs. "Why did you get me up in the middle of the night?" No wonder she felt so exhausted.

His red eyes turned to her in the starlight. "There is no other time to look at the stars," he said, as if his goals should have been obvious to her.

"And you had to wake me up for it?" A plaintive note had entered her voice, but she didn't care. Not while her whole body was rebelling, begging her to just lay down in a snowdrift.

Again, that implacable gaze. "Well, they're _your_ stars." He sounded a bit peevish about it, as if he resented needing her. Jane was completely fine with that.

"Fine. Where are we setting up?" Jane asked, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Her eyes were beginning to adjust. There was a full moon and a canopy of stars. _Just like a blanket,_ she remembered her father saying once when she was little. _But for the whole world._ That wasn't something she wanted to think about now, though, with Loki around. So she followed Loki's pointing finger up what looked like a cliff face. It _would_ be ideal for stargazing, a very good view, but--

He had to be kidding. "How are we going to get up there? _Why_ didn't you just take us up there?"

"Relax," he snapped, and Jane was glad to see him lose his cool a little. "You are in no danger. You are unfortunately necessary for what I wish to do."

"Which is?" Jane asked, but he had already turned around and started stalking away. Suppressing a groan, she followed.

It turned out there was a small path up the cliff face that Jane hadn't been able to see from further away. The path was thin and rocky, though. In places, she had to shuffle along the cliff's edge sideways, holding her breath and hoping Loki wouldn't let her fall to a horrible death.

"Come on, then," he said impatiently, crouching at the top of the cliff. She was on the last leg of the climb, and unfortunately for her, here the path stopped: she would have to haul herself the rest of the way up. Her hands could reach the top of the cliff, but Jane didn't think she had the strength to pull herself up as Loki had done, and the cliff face was mostly smooth, no good handholds or footholds that she could see. The cliff had gotten narrower as she'd risen.

Jane didn't dare look down; she felt too dizzy already. Instead she closed her eyes and pretended she was standing on regular ground, sure and steady. "I'm not sure I can—I mean I—"

Loki uttered a few impassioned curses, mostly maligning mortals, and then a command: "Jane Fosterdottir. Open your eyes."

She did, to see his hand splayed in front of her. Jane almost backed away in surprise, but that would have been fatal. His claws were dark. "You want me to—"

"Obviously," he sneered.

Jane didn't see any other way up, and as much as she wanted to they obviously weren't going back down. She took Loki's hand.

She felt herself lifted off her feet, hanging in the air, and gasped involuntarily, even though she knew perfectly well she wasn't falling. Several times she had seen evidence that his strength was several times that of normal men, in spite of his stature, and she had never been more thankful for it.

For a moment, though, she stilled in the air. There was a swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she was going to fall. It occurred to her: What if his grip slipped, or his strength failed him?—she looked up for an explanation and was treated to an expression of disdain on Loki's face as he looked down at her. His eyes were a malevolent red. A chill ran through her as she thought for the first time that he could just – _drop_ her, let her go tumbling down the cliff; maybe she'd survive, but probably not, and there was nothing she could do about it. He had no love for her, only contempt and amusement, and what if what amused him was—

The moment passed, and in the next second she found herself tumbling to her knees on the ground. The earth was beneath her, solid and reassuring, and Jane took a second to close her eyes and let the fear wash out of her. It was replaced by an intense wave of gratefulness that Loki, for all that he was a monster, had not let her drop to her death, had chosen to save her. Even if it was for his own purposes.

Loki pulled her to her feet by the hand he still had in his grasp, and she almost fell into him. "Come on, then."

The grateful feeling passed. Jane opened her eyes.

The first thing she noticed was that the air seemed thinner up here, wherever they were. High, she guessed. She took a couple of deep breaths but didn't quite feel like she was filling her lungs all the way. The next thing she realized was that they were on a mountain; this was a small, flat ledge jutting out, only about the size of her house. Not far away was the rest of the mountain; she could see an arête in the direction they'd come from.

Loki let go of her hand; Jane realized she'd forgotten he had been holding it and crossed her arms. He swept the snow away with a spell, so that it fell, powder-soft, down the side of the cliff. Then there was only bare rock left. Loki sat down, which Jane took as her cue to do the same.

"Why didn't you just take us up here?" she asked again.

He was shuffling through papers and made an irritated noise. "What do you know of Jotun magic?" he asked, when his mouth was free of a pen.

Dodging the question once again. "Only what you've told me," she said honestly. There were plenty of tales about what Jotuns were capable of, of course, but she hadn't seen much evidence of that herself. Most of the legends involved horrifying acts, the stuff of nightmares. She'd never seen them kill anyone, much less eat a child. The Jotuns _were_ awful, but in a different way: they needed their human farmers, after all.

He made a humming sound. "Jotun magic works on two elemental principles: cold and starlight."

"You mean not warmth and sunlight?" Jane said, pulling her knees up to her chest and watching him. "I never would have guessed."

Another snort, more amused than annoyed. Was that the hint of a smile? "We don't have a sun on Jotunheim."

Jane was taken aback by that. "No sun? Really?" She couldn't imagine a world without a sun. A world without warmth or dawn? No wonder the giants were such cold and callous creatures.

"Jotunheim is beauty you've never dreamed of," he said reprovingly, as if he were able to read her thoughts. Or maybe he was just reacting to her skepticism. "Starlight and frost are the root of every Jotun's magic, our birthrights to power. Of course, some wield them better than others."

His voice left no doubt as to who _he_ thought wielded them better. "Of course," Jane agreed dryly.

Loki ignored that, looking between a piece of parchment in his hands and the clear night sky above them. "Unfortunately for us, your stars are different from ours. In order to harness them properly, to their fullest extent, we must learn them. Most who live here haven't bothered." His contempt was clear.

"You need a star-chart," she guessed. That must be what this little escapade was about.

However, he scowled. "I don't need a _chart_. Magic is about narrative, about telling the universe a story so good it is convinced. I need names. I need stories. What are the stories your people tell about the stars?"

Jane was still thinking back, though. "You can't do your magic as well as on Jotunheim," she guessed again. "Is that why you didn't bring us here right away? You couldn't do it?"

A low growl came from the back of his throat, so Jane knew she was right. "As you have seen demonstrated on a number of occasions, my magic is in fine form. I simply . . . preferred not to risk the slight possibility of landing ten feet west of where we are currently. You should be grateful. No doubt _I_ would have survived."

"Fine, fine," she acquiesced, resting her chin on her arms. "What do you want to know?"

"I _told_ you already." His pen was poised over one of his papers. "What are their stories?"

When she had been little, her father had taken her outside on a number of occasions at night and pointed out each star to her, giving her their names and spinning tales for her entertainment. She'd been only six when he had died in an accident, and she had precious few memories of her parents before that; despite only dimly recollecting those memories, she felt irrationally protective of the stories they had shared on those summer nights.

So she kept the stories to a bare minimum of detail and inflection, more of a recitation of facts than anything else. She told him about Orion and Gemini and Perseus, pointing out the winking star Algol. All the heroes she'd been taught about. Despite what he had said earlier, Loki _was_ making a chart and filling in the names that he gave her in a neat script that she didn't understand. He didn't look at her, but interrupted her often to ask questions and clarify.

The last one she pointed out was Taurus. "It's a bull. It looks like it's fighting Orion, but it's not really. It's actually very gentle. Taurus is the form a god took to romance a mortal, a woman named Europa. The constellation is just the head and shoulders."

"Drivel," muttered Loki. He scratched something into the parchment.

"It's not drivel," said Jane, stung. It had been her favorite story when she was young, with the swimming and the beach and the island; later, when the only gods she knew were the frost giants, it had seemed stupider. But in the face of Loki's disdain, she felt she had to defend it.

He glanced back at her, something thoughtful in his look. "As you say."

Surprised by the admission, Jane fell silent. As she had talked, sleepiness had started to give way to hunger. Jane took a loaf of bread out of her pack and began to tear off pieces.

"Tell me more about the bull," he said, but he had put his pen down and was reaching into his own pack. He brought out a flask of something and turned to face her, uncapping it and taking a long swig. He sighed afterward.

Swallowing, Jane shrugged. "It's supposed to be beautiful. Perfect-looking in every way. Europa falls in love with its beauty and with how gentle it is with her, not like a real bull at all. They play games together. Eventually she rides on his back across the sea to Crete—that's an island—and he reveals his true form to her. It's Jupiter, king of the gods."

"Hmm." He was frowning. It was strange – in the dark like this, when he wasn't being menacing or threatening or having fun with her, he seemed more like a man than she'd ever seen.

"It's just a story," added Jane hastily.

"This woman, she didn't feel betrayed? Frightened?"

Jane shrugged again. "I don't know. I guess not. He was good to her."

"Yes, I suppose so." He took another drink.

She eyed his flask. The bread had left her mouth dry. "Is there any more of that?" she asked with hesitation.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then, to her surprise, passed the flask over to her. Jane took a large swallow and almost sputtered: it wasn't water, but something much stronger and sweeter. It burned down her throat; her eyes watered with the force of it. It took a moment to kick in, but then it hit her like a giant's fist: Warmth suffused through her, down to the very tips of her toes. Her skin tingled.

"That's rather more than I would have recommended for a mortal," said Loki, perfectly bland.

Even though her outrage was dulled by the drink, Jane glared at him as she passed the flask back. "What _is_ this stuff?"

"Mead." He took another sip.

"Doesn't taste like mead," she muttered. It was hard to be upset when she felt so very _good_. Maybe this was how the frost giants could live without a sun.

He smirked at her. "It's Asgardian mead. I . . . _retrieved_ it one day when I was bored. There are pathways between worlds few others know about."

Jane rolled her eyes. "You couldn't just get some from tribute?"

Loki paused, his face still for a moment. Then he relaxed. "It's more fun this way. Many things are all the more fun for being forbidden," he added with a little leer.

Jane huffed, but with how heady she was feeling it came out without force. Or maybe, she thought, she was just getting used to him.

He was all but ignoring his papers and equipment; he had to be halfway through that flask already. “Are we done yet?” she asked, feeling daring.

“With such a lovely view before us, how could you suggest such a thing?” The curl of his mouth gave away his playful mood. Plus, he was _lounging_ , long-limbed and graceful over the rocks. So it was a good day, which meant a . . . not-terrible day for her. Jane wasn’t so ungrateful that she couldn’t appreciate the small mercies.

Jane was continually finding herself surprised by how tall he was in comparison to her, despite being small for his race. And also, apparently, without a scrap of modesty or self-consciousness except for that which was minimally provided by his loincloth. She averted her eyes. Mostly.

The night sky was a nice view, she could give him that.

“How come you to know so much about the stars?” he asked abruptly. “Your race has no magic, and surely stargazing is . . . an _impractical_ pastime.”

Jane thought of her father again and closed her eyes against the surge of feeling in her chest. Suddenly she didn’t want to look at him, or he to look at her, so she kept her eyes closed and laid back against the rock to put some distance between their bodies. There; that was easier.

She swallowed before speaking. “My father studied them.”

“Selvig?”

The stone was hard and unforgiving against her back, but she didn’t move. “No. Erik’s not my father.”

“Where is your father?”

At other times she’d hated Loki’s cruelty, or his fickleness, or his station. At that moment, however, she hated his curiosity more than anything else. He’d already taken her life for his own, for all intents and purposes, and now he was prying into her mind and heart. Pretty soon nothing would be left that was hers and hers alone.

“Dead. My mother too,” she added before he could ask.

He made a noncommittal sound, neither sorry for nor interested in this fact. There was as much cruelty in his indifference as in his sadism.

“Why did he study astronomy?”

“I _don’t know_.”

“Why do you like the bull’s tale?” His voice came from much closer now than before, practically rumbling in her ear.

Jane’s eyes opened in surprised reflex. Loki was sitting right next to her – he had moved silently without her noticing. She almost jolted away from him, but instinct told her Loki wouldn’t like that. So she stayed put.

He wasn’t touching her, but he was close. She became suddenly aware of how little she was wearing; his knee was almost against her thigh, and his face gazed down at her with a critical look.

She’d never been able to read frost giants’ expressions, she realized. Not before Loki. Maybe it was all the time she spent in his company. Or maybe it was his height; in the moonlight he looked just like a man, with the same eyes and nose and lips and tongue. The only differences she could see in that moment were his blue skin and a few ridges across his features; she felt like she could see below the surface of his skin, like it was a mask. She didn’t want him to look like a man; the thought made her feel slightly sick for reasons she didn’t want to think about.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

She had nearly forgotten what that had been. Jane flushed and turned her face away again.

“It’s not the bull’s story. It’s Europa’s.”

“I see,” he said, even though she could clearly hear his amusement. “Does it have a happy ending? Does the bull keep his promises and love her forever?”

In fact, she’d never heard the ending to the story, if there ever was one. The story ended in the middle, as far as she could tell. The bull carried her across the sea and then – what? It was a blank space.

Instead of that, she said, “It doesn’t usually end well with mortals and gods. Especially for the women.”

A glint of sharp teeth. “And why is that?”

“Gods aren’t very kind.”

He pouted. “I can be kind.”

“You’re not a god,” she pointed out, opting for the obvious.

Loki ignored her argument. “Was I not kind to you today?”

Jane sighed, more under the weight of the mead than from true irritation. “You woke me up in the middle of the night and dragged me out of bed because you just couldn’t wait until the morning to hear about some imaginary pictures in the sky. You _could_ have just drawn the chart and I would have been able to tell you about them later, you know.”

He lifted one shoulder, apparently conceding the point. Sometime during their conversation he’d shifted so that his knee pressed against her thigh. “Perhaps I would be kinder if _you_ were kinder,” he remonstrated.

The alarm and revulsion she felt at his clear innuendo was milder than she’d expected. Either she was becoming desensitized to his threats or the mead was numbing her reaction.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” she found it in her to say.

Laughing, Loki moved so that he was leaning over her, his arms caging her in. His figure blocked out the stars behind him and shrouded his face in shadow, so that it almost felt like she was looking at a void.

“Try it and see,” he said, voice low, and leaned down before she could turn away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's comment about magic being a story told to the universe that's so good the universe is convinced was paraphrased from the _Agent of Asgard_ comic. Which you should read.


	7. Chapter 7

_Try it and see,_ he had said, and then kissed her.

Despite the mead, she stiffened. It wasn’t like a typical first kiss at all, tentative or waiting for response. It _was_ slow, and exploratory, but it was also insistent. Loki kissed her like her mouth owed him something and he was determined to take it, and like he wanted to be seen taking it. His tongue slicked along her lip so that he could take it in his mouth and suck.

She must have made some kind of sound at that, because he pulled back, and his chuckle ghosted over her mouth in a puff of air.

“Scared, Jane Fostirdottir?” he whispered. Then, without waiting for her to answer, he shifted lower to bite her on the chin.

Jane nearly yelped.

A love-bite, it would have been, if it had happened in the throes of passion. Or anywhere but her chin. Or, she thought belatedly, if they were actually lovers. But his teeth were slightly pointed and his bite was none too gentle. It _stung_ , enough that tears prickled her eyes.

“Stop,” whispered Jane, trying to push him away fruitlessly. With a growl low in his throat that sounded more animal than human (but he _wasn’t_ human, how could she have forgotten even for _one moment_ ), his jaw tightened a tick, and Jane squeaked, hysteria rising through the fog of the mead. “Stop, stop!” 

Of course, she had no strength to speak of, compared to him. She could rail and try to defend herself all she wanted; Loki wouldn’t let go until _he_ wanted to. He did, finally, a few moments later, with Jane’s hands convulsing near his throat. He took a moment to lick the indentions left by his teeth, but to Jane the action felt more possessive and predatory than apologetic.

Loki sat back on his heels; without her noticing he had pushed one thigh between her own, so that he was straddling her leg, with his knee pushing up against the apex of her thighs. With even a little bit of his weight pressing down on her, she couldn’t get away. Not that she didn’t try anyway.

“And why should I do that?” As he ignored her struggles, one of his fingers trailed down her body where the skin was exposed and caused her to squirm. She didn’t dare look down at herself; instead, she forced herself to focus on his face, blinking away a few tears to get rid of the haze in her eyes.

She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You’re a prince.”

Loki looked at her rather scornfully, as if to say, _Well, yes, tell me something I_ don’t _know._

“I mean –” Jane fumbled for the right words, the right argument, the one that would convince him. Meanwhile he was leaning over her again, bracing himself surely and smoothly, and the motion pulled his leg up against her more firmly.

She didn’t dare move, not even a little. (A small, traitorous voice in her mind murmured – it sounded an awful lot like Loki and tasted like golden, Asgardian mead – _it might feel good, you might like it._ With a valiant effort, she ignored this voice.)

“You’re used to getting what you want,” she added, just as his head began to dip down again. Her words stopped him, however, and his narrowing eyes flicked up to meet hers. If he noticed how much more breathless she was sounding, he didn’t show it.

“Yes . . .”

She had been trying to push him away a few moments ago; now, she laid a hand on his arm intentionally. He gave it the very briefest of glances before returning his attention to her.

“Don’t you think this is a little . . . easy?” she tried. “Just . . . you know, _taking._ ”

“ _I_ rather like it.” His smirk seemed colder than it had been earlier. She was reminded of the fact that they were on a mountaintop, and that it would be nothing to him to just – push her off of it if he felt like it.

All the air seemed to have left her lungs. “I’m not saying . . . there wouldn’t be some pleasure in it. I’m saying, isn’t it better when someone wants you, too?”

His gaze drifted deliberately down her body, nearly naked and exposed underneath him. “There are ways of ensuring that.”

Her breath was coming faster. _Think, Jane, think._ “I don’t just mean – in the moment.”

Loki laughed. “What – don't tell me you mean – _seduction_?”

She met his gaze fiercely. “Why not?”

His body was shaking with his amusement. “I think you’ve forgotten one thing, Jane Fosterdottir. _I am Prince of Jotunheim_ , and I need win the affections of no woman. Much less a _human_ woman.”

“Why not?” she said again, more challengingly. In for a smallcoin . . . “The other way – it’s just boring.”

His mouth pursed, as if he was considering her words, and she felt hope that she’d hit on something.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a victory,” she added softly, not wanting to scare off this new mood. “It’s – brute strength, that’s all. There's no skill involved in it.”

"I don't think you understand the point. There doesn't have to be." He did at least seem entertained by her suggestion, though not yet convinced; Jane would take that over his anger or indifference right now, in this situation. Then again, maybe Loki enjoying himself wasn't the best attitude to encourage either. "Bargaining with someone whom you believe to be a monster, Jane Fosterdottir? I'm surprised."

She ignored that, and all its implications, and looked up at him, wide-eyed. She'd never been one of the women with what people called _feminine charms_ , but then again, she'd never attracted the attention of a sadistic Jotun prince, either. There was a first time for everything. She moved her hand so it lay on his chest; underneath she could feel the lines of his marks, firmer and more unforgiving than she'd expected. "Wouldn't it be more fun?"

He pressed his lips ( _blue_ , she reminded herself, he was blue, he was strange, _he was a frost giant_ ) together to repress his laughter, back bowing under the pressure to keep it in. Jane, on the other hand, was holding her breath.

"I'll wager against you," he said finally, when the spell had broken. Jane had almost breathed out a sigh of relief when she heard him add: " _If._ "

She waited for him to continue with her mouth slightly open, not even able to form the words _if what_ for the anticipation rising in her.

" _If_ ," he repeated, "if you kiss me."

 _It's a trap_ was Jane's first thought. Kissing would only give him an opening to do whatever he wanted, not that he'd ever waited for her opening anyway. Hell, maybe he was planning on trying to seduce her _right now_ , which would kind of defeat the purpose of her bargain.

"Like you mean it," he added, looking rather satisfied with himself. Of course he did.

"I don't trust you," Jane said baldly in response.

"Clever girl," he said, half in approval. The other half was, just as she expected, annoyance. "But. Here: a token you will appreciate. On the name of my mother, the renowned sorceress Farbauti and first wife of the King of Jotunheim, I swear I will not renege on our wager and force you."

That wasn't all; this was no human vow, apparently. With one of his hands, Loki reached up to nudge her own out of the way, and used one of his sharp fingernails to pierce one of the raised bumps just over his heart. Or where his heart would be if he were human, Jane didn't know. Blood as black as night dripped down his finger; he held it up, sticky and metallic, to Jane's mouth.

There were only so many words Jane could draw on here.

"Are you _kidding me_?"

Loki frowned, a real look of displeasure and consternation crossing his face. "It's a sacred vow." His voice was full of offended pique.

A drop fell on her lower lip. It was freezing cold. Instinctively she raised her hand to wipe it away, but –

"Swallow it," he commanded. "It will seal the promise I've made you."

His promise not to violently rape her. Right. That promise. Jane wasn't sure she was even buying this whole . . . sacred vow scenario. Of course, he would only make this kind of promise – assuming it were real – if he knew he was going to win. That was a real possibility too.

Well, she'd just have to prove him wrong. Preferably without swallowing the blood of a frost giant. She opened her mouth –

Just in time for another drop of his black blood to fall in. 

Somehow, from the back of her throat, it seemed to cast a chill over her whole mouth. But there was nothing she could do about it now; almost convulsively she swallowed, and there was nothing for it.

"Now," he said. "Kiss me and I agree. Kiss me and I'll take you back instead of stranding you here."

Jane let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and stared up at him. He was almost faceless in the dark, his back to the moonlight. The blue was almost invisible. If she – if she just –

She pushed herself up on her hands. Up close, she could see the lines on his face – some thick and unwieldy, some delicate and artistic. She shouldn't, Jane realized with a feeling of foreboding, think about _him_ at all. It would be easier if she didn't.

So Jane closed her eyes, and took a breath that just didn't seem deep enough to prepare her. She pushed forward, moving by instinct and the memory of where she'd last seen him to guide her.

Her lips ended up somewhere in the vicinity of his chin, his nose pressing into her eyebrow. His soft laugh stung her, but she tipped her head up quickly enough, and that did silence him. Maybe it would be easier if she – if she parted her lips first, didn't back away, didn't fight what was coming –

She heard his sigh of satisfaction, his victory, at her acquiescence. His tongue moved slickly against hers, soft but somehow also rough in texture. Her stomach clenched at the sensation.

Jane was probably the first human woman to kiss a frost giant, she thought distantly. The thought caused a sharp intake of breath – Loki took the opportunity to press his advantage – at some point his hand had come up to cup the back of her neck, but it was neither gentle nor affectionate. Instead, he held her head in place, which allowed him to plunder his advantage. He made no apology for his teeth: more than once she felt their sharp edges against the soft wet skin of her inner lips. He was panting, almost as much as she was, snatching stray breaths between kisses ( _attacks_ , but the straining correction was so distant).

Loki shoved his knee against her with no warning, and she cried out at the sensation and pressure, pushing back against him, every nerve lit on fire. That must have been what he had been waiting for, because he pulled away and laughed, his forehead pressed against hers.

Then the cold of his magic ripped through her – the laugh faded into an echo – and it was the first time she embraced it, the nothingness.


	8. Chapter 8

Two days later, Jane was free.

Only temporarily, of course. In spite of the vow he'd made on the mountaintop, Loki had become absorbed in some kind of research and barely noticed when she had reminded him of their agreement and said she was leaving for Bjarn that day.

It was nearly two miles' walk back to the village, but between her protection and her good spirits, she hardly even noticed. _And_ she'd managed to keep her own clothes hidden from Loki (thinking he might like to destroy them, just for the joke of it), so she didn’t look too ridiculous walking back to her home.

As she drew nearer to the longhouse she and Erik shared ( _had shared,_ said a voice in the back of Jane's mind, which she resolutely ignored), she encountered some of her neighbors along the way. Some gave her surprised looks and relieved smiles and greetings (though Jane could hear the questions in their voices), but others looked at her with distaste and suspicion. It reminded her disconcertingly of how the giants had looked at her.

Erik, however, did no such thing. As soon as she had walked through the door, his head rose from whatever machine he had buried it in. He looked around with confusion, as though surfacing after a long winter, and looked around until his gaze alighted on Jane.

He started in surprise, before a great smile overtook his face. At the sight of it, so familiar, Jane's heart eased. (Some part of her had thought she'd never see it again.)

Erik let her go soon enough - he wasn't the demonstrative type, generally speaking - and Jane found herself, for the first time she could ever remember, looking forward to the work she and Erik had done on a daily basis. Hell, she'd rub the rust out of metal. Ever since leaving for Loki's the week before - had it only been a week? it felt like so much longer - she'd feared, deep down, that she would never see Erik or their house again. Jane had never been so grateful to see a gear in her life.

When she asked him how work was going, however, Erik smiled. "Things have been steady, my dear. The cold is good for business. And," he added, "I have acquired some help in the meantime. For the days when you are not here."

He'd had to, she translated mentally, because he hadn't been sure whether she would ever come back. Not that she blamed him: it was her fear, too, and winter was harsh and unforgiving. There were no guarantees.

"One of the men?" she asked. She couldn't think of that many who had enough spare time to help out an old man, but maybe someone had wanted to cut a deal.

Erik nodded. "A visitor, staying with his cousin for the season. From up the river at Ormsa, I'm told. He has been very helpful. Young, plenty of muscle."

He flexed an arm, grinning, and Jane laughed, harder than it really called for. She still felt high on relief and wonder.

"You'll meet him later," added Erik. "He's supposed to come over."

As glad as she was that Erik was getting some help, Jane still felt a responsibility to look after him. "In return for...?" she suggested.

He nodded agreeably, acknowledging that her question was a reasonable one. They'd been robbed once before – or at least a couple of outsiders had tried, having not realized how heavy the millstones were – and neither of them were keen to see that happen again. Erik had broken a leg, and they hadn't been sure he would walk again at the time. During the winters since, Jane had detected a limp.

"He asked to study the designs. Seems a bit flighty and free-spirited, smiles too much for my liking, but he's bright enough. Might have a head for it."

"Ooh, an apprentice." A thought struck her like a bolt through the heart, and she bit her lip. "You'll need a new one now, I guess."

"Oh, you'll always be my apprentice, Jane."

She smiled at his words, and together they bent over one of Erik's new designs, Erik adjusting his spectacles as they kept sliding off his nose. The page was drafted in an unfamiliar hand, though, which caught Jane's attention.

"Is this his -?" Jane asked, gesturing, and Erik nodded. "He has a steady hand, I'll give him that," she said, grudgingly impressed. Each line and letter was as neat as could be imagined.

"As opposed to me, you mean." Erik pinched her knee. She swatted his hand away with another smile.

Their old routine was easy to fall into, to Jane's relief. They were like a well oiled machine themselves, barely needing to talk except when absolutely necessary, communicating mostly through their expressions and body language.

"Joints," grunted Erik. She understood immediately: The new stone they were using to grind was heavier, and they wanted to make sure the supports held up. As Jane tested them by hand, gingerly, she was jarred by a knock at the door.

It was a man she'd never met before, tall and red-haired, who grinned down at her.

Hastily Jane pushed some of the hair away from her face and turned to call out. "Erik? Someone's here."

"About time," said the man, though he was cheerful rather than upset. "Do you know how long I'd been knocking?"

Flushing, Jane put her hands on her hips. "And who are you?"

"I'm Thom. I'm here to see Erik."

He had a disconcertingly straightforward stare, his eyes a pale clear blue, so Jane studied the rest of his face instead, what she could see above the scarf. There was a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He didn't have a beard, but he looked young yet, perhaps only twenty or so, though it was hard to judge.

Darcy would have an absolute cow over him, Jane thought. She probably shouldn't introduce them to each other, if they hadn't met already.

"You're staring," he said, his voice oddly quiet. He was still looking at her. "Also, it's rather cold out here."

Jane swallowed and backed away from the open door, inviting him with a gesture.

"Thom! You're here." Erik stood up, pliers still in hand, his focus as myopic and intense as usual. "Come, come, help me. Hold this still while I--"

As he strode over, Thom turned to flash Jane another small smile, which she returned with hesitation. This was Erik's new apprentice? He looked slim, even though he was tall, but he seemed to have no trouble with Erik's equipment. His hands were a little big but his fingers were agile and quick. Jane supposed that was okay.

She watched while Erik adjusted something, shifting from one foot to the other. Something was making her uneasy. One part protectiveness, she was sure; Jane had spent a lot of time the last several years protecting Erik, from bad business deals to physical dangers, because he'd done so much for her as a child when her parents had died. Leaving him in new hands, even if they were seemingly friendly, capable hands, just didn't seem right.

And maybe there was a dash of jealousy in there. Jane was adult enough to admit that.

"Crisis averted," Erik announced after several minutes, wiping his brow with one sleeve.

"Wonderful." Thom rubbed his hands together, the picture of eagerness. "What's next?"

Jane shot Erik an amused look, raising her eyebrows.

"Social niceties, I suppose," he grumbled, waving between them. "Thom, this is Jane, my ward. Jane, Thom."

"Nice to meet you," said Jane politely, but with reserve.

Grasping her hand, Thom bent low over it in a sweeping movement. "The pleasure's all mine." He squeezed her hand once, running his thumb over a knuckle, his skin surprisingly smooth. The brief contact, along with the grandiosity of the gesture, was enough to make Jane blush.

"That's all I have for today, anyway." Erik sounded tired, but Jane was a little disappointed; she'd like to have seen more of them working together, maybe worked with him a little herself, see how he was with the tools. You could never be too careful.

"Disappointing," said Thom with what appeared to be actual regret.

Erik raised an eyebrow at Jane now. "Told you he reminded me of you."

Thom shot her a curious glance; Jane ignored it. "If there's no more work, I think I'll visit Darcy. I'd really like to see her."

"In that case, we had better accompany you," said Erik unexpectedly, turning to pick up his coat.

"Why's that?"

"If Darcy finds out you're back, she'll throw a party," said Erik reasonably, clapping Thom on the back. "She cried for days after, you know. And she brews the best ale around. Wouldn't want to miss it, would we?"

 

 

Erik was right. There was, in fact, a party. A great party, by all standards: after a few happy tears and long hugs, during which Jane assured her that she was fine, totally unharmed, everything was okay, _Darcy, it's really okay,_ Darcy had sniffed and then announced that drinks were on her for the night, just this once. It hadn't taken long for the word to spread, partly because of Darcy's beer, but also an intense curiosity about Jane's situation.

Jane learned this at the party; it was the only part of her return that she had dreaded. Beer loosened tongues. Minds had been whirring with important questions in her departure.

"No," said one woman, pushing herself up from her position on her husband's knee with a hand on his shoulder, "what I want to know is - what I want to know - is whether they fashion their pricks as weapons of ice too!"

A bellow of laughter followed her question. In the center of it all, Jane laughed too; it was far from the worst question of the night, although probably the most ribald, and luckily it wasn't about Jane. She'd take questions about frost giant penises over the abundant, and embarrassing, concern for herself any day.

Abruptly, she realized some people were actually waiting avidly for her response. She held her hands up in surrender, loosened by her two drinks. "I would not know. Seriously."

Some people made disappointed sounds. Jane suppressed her anger at their desire for gossip. "But really," said another woman, closer to Jane's elbow, "you never – he never –" Her voice was quiet enough that her words didn't carry far, but a few people were listening. They looked fearful but fascinated by the question.

Jane thought of the way Loki had run his finger over her breast, his insistent kiss on the mountaintop, how he'd promised to get her in bed. The way she'd shivered at all of those things. She could feel Thom's eyes on her from across the room.

"No," she said firmly. "It's not like that."

"What _is_ it like, then?"

Jane shrugged helplessly; she didn't have a good answer for him. "He wants, at least I think he wants, to punish me, I guess. For standing up to the giants."

"Perhaps the giants are impotent," someone across the room shouted daringly. "They make babies through magic! Imagine it!"

There was another round of raucous laughter, though this time Jane didn't join in. She chanced a glance over at Thom; he wasn't laughing, either, and something in her eased a little at the sight.

"You saved my son that day," said Barad, holding his mug aloft in her direction. He made a toast to her, along with the rest of the room, and began telling the story to everyone gathered, even though most of them had been there at the time. Jane got the feeling it had been told a few times before, at least, but not so enthusiastically. Maybe it had been a warning story then. But she was alive still, and the tone of it had shifted.

Jane caught Thom's gaze again and he gave her a little private salute with his mug. She smiled.

Later, several drinks later, Jane had found Thom in the corner, where he'd removed himself from all the action over the course of the night. She'd caught him looking at her a couple of times out of the corner of his eye, which had been nice. He helped her walk Erik home, too, which was even nicer. Together, they deposited Erik on his furs. He grumbled but didn't protest. Jane pushed him up on his side, where he settled with a deep sigh.

The hearth fire was low; Jane added a log and sat back, then looked across to where Thom was sitting. The light made his hair look like it was on fire.

"I'd heard of you, you know," he said.

Jane had a slight sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Erik spoke very highly of you," he added, and then his voice dropped. "He didn't say you were so pretty."

Oh. Jane was grateful the firelight hid her blush. She wasn't sure what to say, exactly. Thom seemed to notice and laughed, more at himself than her it seemed, as he stretched his legs out.

"Don't worry. I wouldn't –"

"Had a little too much to drink?" said Jane dryly, even though she hadn't seen him drink much all night, and his gaze over the fire wasn't glazed over.

When he ducked his head, he looked shy. Actually, he looked a little familiar. Jane studied the lines of his face, sharpened by the shadows and almost blue and red. They must have met when they were younger, she thought, though she knew she hadn't seen him recently. She'd definitely have remembered him then.

"So you're here," he suggested, a lilt to his voice like he was asking a question. "Have the Jotuns let you go, then?"

Jane snorted. "No. I just . . . get days off, I guess."

"So you're to return," he said, looking disappointed. She nodded. "Is it really true – you were not harmed? Mistreated? In any way?" He looked confused, and Jane couldn't blame him.

She shrugged. "It's strange. They're not exactly nice, don't get me wrong. But so far no one's hurt me." That wasn't completely true. She thought of Loki pinching her nipple, twisting it between his fingers, and the shock of pain and, more surprising, pleasure that had followed, making her think things she hadn't thought in a long time, and she shuddered. She couldn't talk about that with him, though.

"And the prince?"

Jane was suddenly very tired. Loki had been a favorite topic of inquiry and speculation at the party, too. But Jane didn't want to spend her remaining time away from him talking about him too. Her return loomed over her. He wasn't everywhere, or he didn't have to be. So Jane only said shortly, "Same as all the others, only smaller."

"I'm sorry," Thom said after a slight hesitation. "I shouldn't have –"

Jane waved his concern away with a brief smile. "Don't worry about it, Thom."

Then he was standing up, brushing himself off, and he smiled down at her. "Jane Fosterdottir. It was . . . lovely to meet you. I hope our paths cross again. Sometime soon?" He shot another one of those shy smiles at her, and she returned it. Behind her, Erik was snoring, the sound of it familiar and comforting.

"I hope so too," she said.


	9. Chapter 9

Even her first trip to the Jotun ice palaces wasn't the worst thing she had endured, Jane would decide. Much later.

No, the worst thing Jane endured was the _second_ journey. For the entire time she'd been back in Bjarn – on vacation, basically, borrowed time that Loki had, for whatever reason, decided to lend her – she had caught herself constantly looking to the North, to the flash and glitter of the sunlight on ice. Anticipating. Waiting.

It was awful. In the last few hours she had wondered if Loki had deliberately set out to ruin her "weekend" as well as her working days with his lurking presence in her mind.

But that was paranoid. Jane strove to get that thought out of her head. Instead, she forced herself to think of Erik, and Darcy, and the safety of everyone she knew.

It wasn't until three days later that she decided to push him about teaching her to read the runes she'd seen in his books. She'd waited because of his volatility, and to see what fallout there might be from what had happened on the mountaintop, but Loki's actions and behaviors seemed to have ignored those factors totally. Naturally.

His gaze had flickered up to hers as he noticed her careful observation of his book one day. Mentally she was already creating a chart of the runes she had observed, mapping their strokes and any patterns she noticed – which were, admittedly, few. There seemed to be many more runes than there were letters in Jane's alphabet, although she would have to look closer to observe that definitively.

"Jane Fosterdottir," he said finally, on that third day, his patience apparently wearing thin.

"Prince Loki," she returned. She could give as good as she got. "Your royal highness."

The book he was flipping through was approximately four times the size of her head. Jane shivered at the sheer amount of _knowledge_ that was bound between its covers. The book lay flat on the table, so that Jane could see the lines of runes running from top to bottom and from one side to the other.

She thirsted for what knowledge was in between those margins.

Jane swallowed, aware that she might only have one chance to press her case. Now was the optimal time to imbibe Asgardian mead, given its numbing effects that she had so . . . enjoyed, but it didn't seem to be hanging around anywhere. Or at least _Loki_ was keeping it well hidden, which, fair enough.

"I see this rune a lot," she said finally, pointing to one on his current page. The rune was composed of two vertical slashes, one with a descender much below the other. Both tapered off into a calligraphic point. "What does it mean?"

The lift of Loki's head was slow and foreboding. "What does it _mean_?" he repeated, as if he hadn't understood the question.

Jane gnawed at the inside of her cheek. "Yeah."

"It signifies the sound –" Here, Loki made a vowel sound similar to _aah_ , but more guttural and low.

Jane tried to repeat it. Loki laughed at her attempts.

"You don't have the apparatus," he said finally, after four tries. "Evidence of your race's inferiority, I suppose."

She bristled at the criticism, despite knowing perfectly well that physiological differences could very well determine whether she could reach her goal. "Show me," she insisted, two and three and four times every day. "I can do it. Just give me the chance."

"You can't teach a goat," said Loki after one of their sessions, which ended in what seemed to be his genuine irritation at her inability to make progress on the _cht_ sound.

"I'm not a goat." There was a sentence Jane Fosterdottir had never expected to repeat several times so far over the course of her lifespan.

"Prove it," he said with scorn. He demonstrated three different runes that all sounded like _ch_ to Jane, but she tried – she tried _so hard_ \- to listen to them and distinguish between them, to no avail.

He threw the book across the room. It landed on the stone floor, its pages spread wide open. Some of the pages were bent at the corners; Jane felt protective of them, somehow, as though she were responsible for their safety and well-being.

"Accept your race's lot, Jane Fosterdottir," he said, at very nearly a shout. The ice walls seemed nearly to vibrate. "You are simply not capable."

Despite the evidence mounting against her, Jane didn't cave in.

 

 

She found some respite two weeks later, however.

Jane had found herself thinking of Bjarn, much more often than before she'd gone back for the first time. It had even made her wonder whether it was even a good idea to make return visits at all, if it kept her so dissatisfied with her . . . _Loki situation_.

But ultimately she couldn’t _make_ herself not want to go home. And after two weeks of no comment or reference to their kiss or his supposed _sacred vow_ to her, Jane found it was literally impossible for her to stick around without a break.

Erik welcomed her back again, of course; she had the feeling his relief would never fade, given how dependent he was on her for her work. She had helped him repair three milling machines on her last visit, and two of those probably wouldn’t have been possible without her.

Or without Thom.

Jane could appreciate that Thom was becoming a fast asset to Erik's livelihood. She really could. But a few times she had thought of his shy smile and stupid freckles, and of how much she _missed_ her work with Erik, even though before all this happened it had seemed like she couldn't wait to find them a new life, new livelihoods without all this menial labor.

And yet. It was hard to think of Thom's broad smile and eager aptitude for new tasks without feeling a little sour.

On the second day of her second visit to Bjarn, Jane ran into Thom again at her – at Erik's – house. The surprise of it pulled her up short, and she stared for him at a loss for a few moments, even though she was pretty sure he was asking her something.

That stupid smile again. It very nearly spanned his face.

"Jane?" His voice came out with a questioning tone.

She shook herself from her reverie, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "Thom," she answered automatically, though she couldn't remember what he'd asked of her.

"I said, could you check the span of this gear for me?" he repeated, his tone gentle and conciliatory. Jane flushed; her hands clenched at her sides.

The gear was fine. As she drew in a determined breath through her nose, Jane reminded herself that over-cautiousness and concern were _good_ traits for Erik to have in an apprentice, rather than the opposites.

He was touching her arm, she realized with a start. The soft skin of her inner elbow. The barest brush, really. Thom was watching her carefully. As he should, she thought suddenly, and then regretted it.

"Is something amiss?" he asked.

Jane gritted her teeth against his concern and managed to reply, quite neutrally she thought, "No, nothing's wrong."

"I understand," he said, even though Jane was sure he did not, at all. No human could really understand what she was going through.

"Things are difficult for you," he burst out suddenly, and Jane stared at him. "Even though I come from the South, I know how difficult it is for you and Erik . . . the lack of steady supplies, the time constraints, the giants' interference."

"Yes," she said faintly, not sure what was coming next.

"I've –" Thom swallowed, the Adam's apple in his throat prominent for a few moments. "I've brought something for you."

"Brought something for me," repeated Jane, not sure she was understanding.

"Don't be angry." There was a hint of reproval in his voice. Then he ducked away to retrieve something from his pack, which he passed to her.

It was paper. Clean, reasonably white sheets of parchment – at least two dozen, she determined after a quick estimate, letting the edges of the paper fan against her nails. Jane could only stare at him, half-unwilling to believe the texture underneath her fingertips.

"I had some," he explained quickly, at her look. "It was only – I wanted you to –"

His voice seemed to abandon him after that.

"How much?" asked Jane, an edge to her voice.

He stared at her. "Beg pardon?"

She waved the sheets of paper in his uncomprehending face. "How much did all this cost you?"

Her tone had to be incredulous, because it was inherently incredulous to believe that some stranger – just a random person, an out-of-towner she'd known for only two weeks – could do something like this. "I could afford it," he said, sounding injured.

" _How?_ " Jane asked impatiently. He was obviously not understanding anything.

"I already had it." He regarded her with unease.

Jane swallowed her jealousy. "You already had it? How did you already have it? _Where are you from?_ "

Thom hesitated, but ultimately he was eager to explain. He came from the South – further South than she had thought – where the frost giants didn't dare roam. Vaguely Jane remembered stories of the giants venturing south, toward the equator, and their magic faltering in the face of its heat. But that had been a long time ago; there was no one alive to remember it.

But there were people there, apparently. Still! Jane drank in this news with undisguised excitement.

"We make paper from the pulp of wood," he said. So _that_ was why his paper looked so similar to the parchment she'd seen in Loki's various books. Loki had told her of such a process, though undoubtedly the Jotuns' production was finer and more distinct. Jane didn't care, not when she was holding two dozen leaves of the finest paper she'd ever laid hands on.

There was the slightest tremble in her wrist, as she held the paper. So much blank space, with no need to rub off the surface layer and risk a palimpsest overcoming their designs. Erik would – Erik would –

"I don't know how –" Jane began, before her throat closed up. Resolutely she gazed over Thom's shoulder, instead of meeting his eyes.

"It's fine," he was quick to assure her, mouth twisted at the corner. His fingertips, smooth, brushed the valleys between her knuckles. Jane ducked her head, but she didn't pull her hand away. He caught her smile and returned it. Jane caught herself thinking, _if only . . ._ , and tried not to dwell on it. If there was one thing she'd discovered in her short life, it was that too much hope was a dangerous thing.

 

 

Thom's gift buoyed her spirits immensely, Jane discovered, even so that Loki's antics couldn't quite bring them all the way down. She and Erik had not known quite what to do with all that paper; if known, it was sure to attract unwanted attention and perhaps even crime. As a result, they'd hidden it away for the time being, although they had not been able to resist covering one sheet, front and back, with a bevy of small, detailed designs. Erik's sheer pleasure in seeing the pure white sheets was not something Jane thought she would ever be able to replicate or substitute for.

Loki, on the other hand, seemed to be becoming ever more disagreeable as time passed by.

He threw an ink bottle at her head one day for failing to distinguish between two runes – two that looked very similar, even _completely fucking indistinguishable_ , she might add in her defense.

A few drops landed on her cheek, and no doubt elsewhere as well. Without thinking, Jane brushed at them, only belatedly realizing that she was probably making the problem worse rather than better. The bottle itself landed with a clang somewhere behind her. Fortunately, she had ducked in time to avoid the worst of it.

Loki was leaning across the table, an angry spark in his eyes.

" _What?_ " she said, probably too loudly, even though they were all alone.

"I was foolish," Loki began, and Jane started at the surprise of ever hearing the Prince of Jotunheim say something like that.

Of course, the feeling didn't last. "Foolish," he continued, "to ever think that a mere mortal could even begin to understand the complexity of –"

If she had had her own ink bottle, Jane would have thrown it at him, without question. Even if her life was at risk, which, really, it always was at this point. Instead she settled for glaring at him and wishing that her glare was a physical weapon. Like a bevy of little knives. Yes, that would be nice.

" _Maybe,_ " she hissed, unable to let it go, "you actually tried _teaching_ me something instead of just constantly criticizing –"

His response to that was a sneer. "Truly, Midgardians are but mere animals in need of a shepherd. I have never been so glad of our colonization of your planet –"

Without thinking about it, she let her hand fly toward his face.

Faster than she could see, her hand was stopped by what felt like an immovable force. It was Loki's hand. The muscles in his arm weren't even straining with the effort of holding her arm in place. In vain she struggled to pull her arm away.

He seemed almost as surprised by her action as she felt.

"How," he inquired, deceptively calm, "have you come to defend your species so valiantly?"

Jane didn't have a good answer for that, besides _I felt like it,_ anyway; she could only stare and wait for him release her wrist.

He studied her with malevolent curiosity. "Is it a haven? Have you found some place you imagine you will escape to?" His grip on her wrist tightened. She couldn't even answer _no_ \- the honest response – before he continued.

"Rest assured I will always be able to find you," he added. Tellingly his gaze dropped to her necklace, the pendant he'd given her, before he looked her in the eye again. "I have my ways, far beyond your ken."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she protested.

"A tool? Some trick you imagine to overcome me?" His stare was hard, penetrating. "Don't be a fool, Jane. You've seen more than any of your kind why such a pursuit would be foolish."

Even knowing it wouldn't do any good, Jane tugged at her wrist. "Loki, you're _hurting me,_ " she tried, and then immediately realized that was a dumb tactic.

He didn't seem to notice, his eyes widening instead. "Or is it perhaps – a lover?"

Jane was so surprised she forgot to keep pulling away, instead falling still. " _What?_ "

His gaze intensified, narrowed. "Is that it? You have a weak little mortal boy at your beck and call, some pathetic human, capable of nothing . . . and it makes you think – what? That you are secure? That you need not fear me?"

Thom's gentle face floated up, unbidden, from her subconscious, before she hastily pushed it back down. It wasn't like that. "No," she protested, perhaps too quickly, for Loki's gaze narrowed further.

"I certainly hope not," he said, soft and dangerous, "for his sake as well as yours."

Jane's shoulders stiffened. "Why would it matter to you even if I did, anyway –"

Abruptly he dropped her wrist; she cradled it against her chest. He'd held it hard enough that there might be a bruise the next day. "It doesn't," he said with a sneer, or at least an attempt at one. "Fuck whomever you choose, it's not like _I_ care what a whore does - _who_ she does –"

This time, when she tried to slap him, he seemed just as surprised as her. The hit connected. Loki's - _the Prince's_ , she reminded herself, trying to make that fact matter more – head snapped sideways, before he very carefully raised it to meet her look again. His cheek had darkened to purple. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

"Be careful that you do not cross a line you will regret," he said through gritted teeth. "You might be surprised at how much I have indulged you."

Somehow Jane could only feel victory at getting to him, and _living_.

"I'll try," she tossed back, and was rewarded with his hateful glare.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies, remaining chapters are now going up.

After that Loki seemed to grow only angrier and more taciturn around Jane. Though he was ever more critical – basically giving up on his end of the teaching-Jane-how-to-read-Jotun-runes bargain – the flip side was that he apparently wanted to spend less time around her. More and more Jane was left on her own, until her time was probably split halfway between Loki and Bjarn.

Some, though not all, of that time was spent around Erik and, thus, Thom too.

As much as Jane wanted to avoid him – Loki's warning words loomed in the back of her mind, weighing everything down – it was impossible. The most she could hope to do was discourage the boy through inattention, a strategy she pursued with ruthlessness. Every time Erik suggested a beer, or Thom would begin a sentence with, _so would you like to_ , Jane shut that down as quickly as possible, and she was _very_ adept at shutting men down. Even the puppy dog face – which normally Jane was weak to – wasn't enough to curb her. Loki's threats had made her _responsible_ for him.

After Thom had left one afternoon, Erik had turned to Jane and said, "You know, you're killing that poor boy."

Jane's arm jerked slightly as she adjusted the wrench. She pretended not to notice. "Since when do you pay attention to things like that?"

Erik's expression turned befuddled, as if he actually didn't know the answer to her question. He shrugged and moved on to the next task, as if his duty had been discharged by the single statement. She supposed it had.

Darcy noticed, too, which was more worrisome. She was well-meaning and probably Jane's closest friend outside of Erik, but she was a bit of a blabbermouth. The last thing Jane needed was some kind of gossip about her and Thom spreading through the village and perhaps reaching the giants' – and therefore Loki's – ears.

"Chillax," Darcy hissed. "I didn't tell anyone about your spat with lover-boy."

"'My spat with lover-boy,'" muttered Jane as she oiled the hard-to-reach-joints of Darcy's grain mill. The scare quotes were left implied. "Is that what people are calling it?"

"No," protested Darcy, maybe too quickly. "It's just – you two seemed kinda friendly, and, well, . . ." She trailed off, letting the thought complete itself.

Jane put some more elbow grease into it. "It's nothing," she said.

"Right." Darcy didn't sound completely convinced. To be fair, Jane wasn't either.

 

Jane had managed to keep all of her encounters with Thom since her talk with Loki professional. It wasn't actually all that hard; he was so very _nice_ , not pushy at all, which was such a welcome change from Jane's experiences with men that it almost made her regret spending less time around him.

Of course, he couldn’t fail to notice her change in treatment, either.

"Jane?"

She took a deep breath and turned to face him, returning the unasked question. "Thom?"

He took a breath, wiping his hand on the grease-cloth. It came away black and smudged. "Is there something I've done?"

If there was one thing living with Loki had taught her, it was how to turn a question back on its asker. "Something you've done?"

"To offend you," he said.

"Why do you think you've offended me?" Trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible, Jane kept her back to him and tested the fit of two gears together.

His sigh was deep, and when he spoke he sounded resigned. "Fine. I give up."

The gears didn't quite fit together. One of the teeth was a shade too wide to fit into the slot. Jane made a mental note to file it down and come back to it, and placed it in the appropriate stack.

Mouth a thin line, Jane tried to remind herself of Loki and his not-so-subtle threats. She wasn't sure that was something she could explain to Thom, or even Erik for that matter. It would involve talking about the bet she had made with Loki, maybe the fact that he'd kissed her (and she'd kissed him, that voice in her head reminded her), and that wasn't something she was willing to do.

She heard the tap-tap-tap of something against the grindstone. Thom's fingers, perhaps.

"It's not you," she said finally, after the silence became too heavy and oppressive. Jane didn't turn around to face him, just tossed her words over her shoulder carelessly.

She heard the shuffle of his feet behind her. "I had rather thought things were improving for you." At her silence, he continued, "Given how much more time you've been spending in town."

Jane remembered his comment about how pretty he'd found her, how she had found his shyness and eagerness endearing. She reminded herself that she had to protect him. Even if she also wanted other things at the same time.

Something, she realized with a sick heart, had been woken up in her. Ever since what had happened on the mountaintop, she had felt – different. It had been years since she'd let herself think about men, or relationships, or sex. There had been Don, but he had died, and since then she had been too wrapped up in Erik, and in their work, to think about what _she_ wanted.

But now she _was_ thinking about it, more than she could remember in a long time. _Damn_ Loki. He'd made it impossible for her to be with someone, given her situation, but it was him who had made her – want things. Not from _him_ , obviously. And not even from Thom in specific, either, not really. But the possibility was a real, live one to her now. Where she would have ignored his attentions before, now she thought about what it would be like – what it would feel like – to kiss and be kissed, to touch and be touched, again. Even if it was only to wash the taste of Loki out of her mouth.

"Things aren't better," she said finally, remembering that he'd said something. Then, reluctantly, she added: "I thought they might be. Getting there, I mean. But things are dangerous for, for anyone who's near me. I was . . . reminded, recently."

She still didn't know how serious this whole "vow" thing was, but the threats seemed real enough. Loki did seem like the type to get jealous over anyone else handling his toys, even if he didn't want to play with them himself. Despite their little wager, though, he hadn't made a single overture toward her, and had only grown angrier and more impatient with her. Not so much a seduction as, well, the complete opposite.

"You're trying to look after me, then," he said, from nearby. She turned in surprise and barely caught the cloth he tossed her way in time. Thom gestured toward her hands.

Jane hadn't even noticed the grease smudges, and she sighed. There was black under her nails that wouldn't seem to come out no matter how hard her rubbing.

"Should I take this to mean that you care about my well-being?" he prompted.

In contrast to his light words, hers were stiff. "I care about everyone's well-being."

Why did he not seem to _care_? The intimation of danger from the frost giants had everyone else running for the hills. Belatedly she remembered he wasn't from around here, hadn't grown up with them. Maybe they were just giant blue farmers to him or something. Weeks later he hadn't even seen one up close yet, according to him. The distant stuff of fairytales still.

"Including your own?" His words broke through her thoughts. Glancing up, Jane realized he was sitting across from her again.

"Beg pardon?" she said, more sharply.

"It's one thing to stay alive." The softness in his voice seemed, paradoxically, to pierce through her armor more than anything else. "It's something else to really live."

Jane flung the cloth back at him, much harder than was necessary, but wouldn't meet his eyes. "Not everyone has that luxury," she finally snapped. "And what business of it is yours, anyway? What do you think this has to do with _you_?"

He sighed. "Nothing. Nothing. I'm not – I wouldn't –" He took a moment to think, lacing his fingers together. She couldn't help but notice, again, how lean and strong his hands were. _Focus, Jane._

"I wouldn't take anything you weren't willing to give," he finished quietly. "If you don't feel - that's fine. But it would be nice if you didn't ignore me. And if you actually seemed – like you were enjoying yourself."

Jane wanted to keep being angry, but discovered to her consternation that his words had deflated most of it. And she wasn't so stupid she couldn't realize that most of her anger wasn't directed at _him_ anyway. She just wanted someone to be safely angry at. "That's a little hard, sometimes."

"May I offer a suggestion, then?" He rose, brushing himself off, and held out a hand to her.

Jane regarded it warily. "What?"

"The Jarbersons are opening their first cask of last year's blackberry wine. Tonight. You should join us."

He hadn't retracted his hand. Tentatively Jane reached up to take it, and he hauled her up easily. 

"There will be plenty of other people there," he added, with a little sparkle in his eye. "Should you want someone else's company. Enjoy yourself, Jane."

In that moment, she hated Loki just enough to say yes.

 

 

"Come on," she'd said, relishing the merriment in his blue eyes. Under the influence of a few glasses of wine, Jane had grasped his hand, and he had let her pull him to her and Erik's house.

Wherever Thom went, laughter seemed to follow. Everyone else seemed to be charmed by him effortlessly. Jane was more charmed by how he'd kept his word all night; he hadn't stayed by her side the whole time, hadn't put any pressure on her, and had politely shut down any prying questions from the neighbors about them coming together. She, on the other hand, had not been able to stop looking at him. A couple of times he had caught her looking, followed by the slightest of smiles, and a frisson of excited possibility had run through her.

It was foolish. It was stupid. It was dangerous. More for him than for her, even. Jane's mind tried to remind her of that. But those cold, hard facts were hard to concentrate on when someone was closing the door, and then pulling her close for a kiss.

The kiss was light, tentative. His lips were chilled from the cold outside, but the fire was nearby, banked low. He was tall, so she had to push herself up on her tiptoes against him, her fingers slipping on his tunic. With a noise in the back of his throat, he reached out to catch her by the elbows and steady her.

Jane made a little sound when he pulled away.

"We should –" he said, his breath coming faster. "Are you sure –"

She very nearly dragged him to her furs in response. It was hard, very hard, to think of danger and Loki and frost giants when there was a warm body pressed along hers, and she liked it that way. Together they practically stumbled onto the platform, half on her furs and half off. When he leaned over her to kiss her again, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, she almost whimpered with how much she _wanted_ it, wanted him.

He wasn't silent, either, and with each kiss and touch she heard a murmur from him, or a groan in the back of his throat, suppressed. Each sound sent a little thrill through her as she remembered how that could be the best part, making someone feel like that. His mouth found her earlobe, and she felt him grin at her gasp.

At every touch, even through layers of fabric, Jane's body responded. Even the lightest brush of fingertips down her arm made her arch and squirm and pant. It was like her body had saved every scrap and shred of desire from the last four years that she had never felt and was letting all of it out at this moment.

There were too many ties and fastenings and layers for her to get her clothes off very quickly. Instead, together they managed to push her skirts up to her hips, and he set himself between her knees and let one hand stroke down her bare thigh. Even through layers of bunched-up linen, she could feel him hard against her, and she canted her hips up, wanting to feel more, and heard his groan.

He pulled back again to rest on his heels – Jane almost begged but barely managed to stop herself in time – and he pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side and settling over her again. His chest warmed under her hands – even though the fire was low and they weren't covered by anything, he was sweating a little already – and she skimmed lower, feeling his muscles work as he moved, and finally further down to cup him though his pants and _feel_ him – he bucked into her with a surprised noise – yes, that, that was what she wanted. She couldn't remember wanting anything more in her life.

It was almost too much. The linen of her dress was scratchy against her breasts; even as she strained upward to push herself against him she wanted something else, wanted to feel her skin against his.

He did too, apparently, because he swore and reached around her with one hand. Jane twisted underneath him and reached back to fumble with the ties that held her dress together. But he got to them first, plucking them easily. Not quite as inexperienced as Jane had expected, then. That was something of a relief. It also made her feel uneasy, though she was a little too distracted to think about why.

That feeling went away as she wriggled to let him push down the fabric so that it bunched at her waist with the skirts. _There,_ there it was, her own body bared and heaving, and him hard against the soft skin of the inside of her thigh. There was just a little cloth in the way. Even though he hadn't touched her there, she knew she was wet enough to take him easily, if he'd just unlace his pants already. But instead he found her throat with his mouth and sucked a kiss from it that felt like it would bruise later.

"What do you want?" he asked then, voice close to her ear.

Jane made an inarticulate sound.

He nosed up the side of her neck. "I said, what do you want, Jane Fosterdottir?"

"Please," was all Jane could think to say, her head too fogged up to speak properly. She felt his smile against her, and then –

His teeth in her chin. It was gentler, this time, but the shock of it was the same, washing over her in a sudden, awful wave. With a gasp that was half arousal and half horror, Jane pulled back from him as much as she could. It wasn't far enough.

"Oh dear," he said, the softness of his voice malevolent even though his blue eyes were still wide and guileless. "Did I give away the game?"

Jane stared at him. One arm came up automatically to cover her breasts, even as she knew rationally that it was too late.

She said the only thing she could think of, which was his name: " _Loki._ "


	11. Chapter 11

" _Loki._ "

He made no response, only smiling. It was an awful smile, and the first time she'd seen it on Thom's face. But it was very familiar.

"Was it," she whispered. "Was it you the whole –" As soon as she'd started asking the question, the answer had sunk into her, pulling her down like a millstone. The whole time. Every word. She knew. Yes.

Thom – Loki – dipped to kiss her belly just above where it was bared, not bothering to reply to the obvious. The brush of his lips against her skin reminded her suddenly of what they had been doing, what they had been about to do. What _she_ had been about to do with _Loki_.

Jane still felt sensitive, aching. Her brain took a few seconds to catch up with her body. Then she shoved him away.

"No," she said finally, belatedly. She couldn't seem to look away from his eyes.

He only laughed and reached under her thigh to squeeze her rear. If it had been anyone but Loki, it would have been an innocent, playful gesture.

He frowned, then, though Jane couldn't see why. His hand shifted so that it was nearer her cunt, his thumb stroking the joint between hip and thigh. "Don't tell me, Jane Fosterdottir," he said, with obvious relish, "you aren't wet and waiting for me. Come now. I was _here_ just a few moments ago, when you _begged_ me -"

As his thumb moved to part her open, however, his head turned and he grunted. It didn't sound like one of pleasure, either. Unable to move, Jane could only hold her breath and watch him.

His other hand came up to press against his forehead. "What have you –" Then his eyes widened and he sat back, pulling away from her. " _Fuck._ "

Jane had no idea what was going on, just that she was thankful for it.

"I may not be able to force you," he said through a gritted jaw, "but you are still mine, and if you don't return, I will _hunt you down_ and kill everyone you love in the process."

Then he disappeared, leaving Jane alone. She sat and stared into the dark space where he had been for a few minutes, not really seeing anything. Everything had happened very quickly.

It must have been the vow that made him stop, she realized eventually. So it _was_ real. There was a certain comfort in knowing it actually meant something, that there was some force out there protecting her. Even if it wasn't perfect.

He must not have thought she would realize the truth about who he was. Or that she would just say yes anyway.

The immediate fear was leaching out of her body, now that he was gone. (If he was _ever_ gone.) But her heart was still beating quickly; she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.

She was half-dressed, or not even that, she remembered. Swallowing, she shed the dress – she didn't even want to look at it – and slipped into her nightshirt, tucking herself into her furs and pulling them all the way up to her chin. It was just a normal night, she told herself.

It wasn't enough. Jane looked at the fire and felt very awake. Very _aware_. Her skin itched. She knew, with an awful feeling, what would scratch it.

 _It's not about him,_ she told herself. She just wouldn't think about him, wouldn't even name him in her own head. Under the furs, she hiked up the hem of her nightgown. As long as she didn't –

She pushed her fingers between her legs and threw her other arm over her eyes. Just to help get herself to sleep. She wouldn't think of him, not either of his faces. A nameless no-one.

That was what she told herself. But she was slick, and very close, and it was hard to forget what exactly had gotten her there. _Who_ had. When her body clenched and shuddered and she had to bite her thumb to muffle a low cry, the hand she was picturing between her legs was blue.

 

By the morning, Erik had returned, and over breakfast Jane told him an abbreviated version of what had happened. She left out the worst parts, implying that it had only gone so far as a kiss. Even though it was humiliating, even with the details omitted, he deserved to know why his beloved new apprentice wouldn't be showing up to work anymore.

He seemed almost more upset about Thom's identity than her, pacing around the longhouse with wild eyes.

"Who all did he speak to? And what about?"

"Could he transform himself into anyone? Look like anyone?"

"What was his purpose?"

"You must tell me everything you know, Jane. I must know."

She almost couldn't bear to answer his questions, though she tried her best. "Why do you need to know all this?" she asked finally.

Erik looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, then his gaze darted away. He licked his lips. "Nothing. It's nothing. Don't trouble yourself about it. There is someone –" He rubbed a finger over his lips. "I must speak to someone."

"I have to go back," she whispered, _sotto voce_ , her voice so quiet it barely carried to him. He shot her a look so pitying she couldn't hold his gaze.

Moving to her side, Erik squeezed her shoulder. "You will not have to endure much longer," he said in a low voice.

She stared up at him. "What are you talking about?"

Instead of answering, all he said was "Make it through the next few days, Jane. That's all. If you can do that . . ." Another squeeze.

If she could do that, then what? It wasn't like Loki, or the frost giants, were going away. If Erik had hatched some plan to get them to the South – if he put himself in danger like that –

"When are you going back?" he asked suddenly, before she could protest.

She'd been staying for three or four days at a stretch, now, with Loki's inattention. Or supposed inattention; she saw much more clearly now what he had been doing, as both Loki and Thom. "Day after tomorrow," she said with reluctance. "Maybe the next after that."

"Day after tomorrow," said Erik firmly, to her surprise. "Don't make him come here. After you."

"Fine." It was what she had thought she'd do anyway, but Jane was still a little stung by his callousness, and turned away.

 

 

She didn't tell Darcy – she was incapable of keeping secrets, and this was _not_ something Jane wanted to spread around the village – but her silence and sour mood must have been obvious the next afternoon, because Darcy had figured out _something_ was clearly wrong.

"You really don't look good," Darcy said for about the fourth time, as they were on their way back to Jane's.

Jane's temper was growing short, even if she knew Darcy shouldn't have been the real target of her anger. "Thank you, Darcy. That's very helpful."

" _Sorry._ " Darcy tugged on her sleeves. "It's just – what happened?"

Jane kept her eyes trained on the path. "Nothing happened."

"Something . . . Thom-related?" Darcy hazarded as a guess. Jane sighed.

"He wasn't – who he said he was. Let's put it that way." That was really the best, most euphemistic way to put it.

Darcy groaned in reply, and there was enough venom in the word that followed to put down a horse: " _Men._ "

Even though Darcy didn't know the half of it, Jane was inclined to agree.

"We'll have a drink tonight," promised Darcy. "You really seem like you need one. _God_ , you have the worst luck with men, Jane." Didn't Jane know it.

When they finally arrived, however, there were already guests.

Jane stopped up short just after she went through the door, recognizing one of the figures. "Sif?" she asked with surprise, barely remembering the woman's name.

"Jane Fosterdottir," Sif said solemnly, but there was a hint of a smile in her voice. Her glaive and shield were propped up against one of the walls; next to it was a hammer. She, Erik, and a tall blond man Jane didn't recognize were gathered around the fire. In fact, it looked like they were waiting for something.

"Darcy," Erik said with perfect politeness. "May we speak with Jane alone?"

Darcy's gaze flitted back and forth between him and Jane. "Ooookay." A pause. "Is there gonna be a lot of drinking tonight again?"

One side of Erik's mouth twitched, though Jane couldn't tell if it was amusement or unhappiness. "I expect so."

"I'll get the beer," she said decidedly, before smiling at Jane and leaving.

"I've heard much of Darcy Lewisdottir's ale," said the unknown man. Of the four people in the room, he was the most at ease, smiling and looking relaxed. "I look forward to sampling it."

"What's going on?" Jane said warily, instead of responding to that.

"Please know, Jane," said Erik in a rush, leaning forward, "I would not ask this of you myself."

That sounded ominously familiar. Even as Jane sat herself in front of the fire, folding her legs beneath her, a chill went down her spine. She wished, suddenly, that Darcy hadn't left.

"Nor I," added Sif. The other man shot her a look, and she shrugged at him. "Still. We are here, asking it."

Apprehension gnawed at her, and she had the feeling that she had looked behind the curtain to see something much bigger than she had imagined. "What's going on?"

"Jane Fosterdottir," the man said in a grave intonation, "I am Thor Odinson, King of Asgard, and I require your help."


	12. Chapter 12

The day before, she had thought that the longest, worst walk to Loki's palace wouldn't be the second one, but this one, today, full of dread and humiliation. She'd thought she wouldn't be able to bear the thought of Loki's mocking smirk, not after what he'd done. She'd thought she'd rather have thrown herself down the mountain than look him in the eye again.

Instead, her feet were surprisingly light. Jane fingered the talisman in her pocket, checking for the third time to make sure it was still there.

She remembered Sif's voice, quiet and sure: _Without your help, we may all perish._

It helped, thought Jane, that she was pretty sure this was going to be her last journey there, one way or another.

Although she pretended to pay no attention to the guards as she passed – just as, by now, they paid her no mind – Jane was counting them in her head; she couldn't help it. They loomed larger and taller in life than in memory. She came across four of them just on her way to the prince's rooms alone. There was no way to send that knowledge back to Sif and Thor now; all she could do was hope that what she had managed to tell them would be enough.

She knocked on the doors to Loki's rooms as she had more than a dozen times before. Sometimes he hadn't been there and she'd had to get one of the guards to let her in to her own rooms.

He was there now, though, which was a relief rather than a burden this time. The door creaked open and Jane steeled herself for whatever was coming.

 _Stealth and silence,_ Sif had insisted to Thor, over even her king's disapproval. _It's bad enough you ride out on the front lines. You will not put her in danger for the sake of our pride._

Loki's mouth opened and closed into a frown. "I'm surprised," he said finally, after a long, awful moment where Jane didn't know what was going to happen. "That doesn't happen very often."

"You're welcome," said Jane tartly, and she could swear he almost smiled. She gestured toward the door, feeling full of a strange confidence. "May I –?"

"Of course." Loki swept the door open, still eyeing her with curiosity.

Once she was actually in his room, Jane's confidence wavered, and her feet stopped moving. The sound of the door closing behind her didn't help, and nor did the soft pad of his feet against the floor. They stopped some distance away. Jane took a deep breath, pulled her hair over one shoulder, and tugged on one of the strings holding the fabric together.

It took several minutes, but she divested herself of every piece of clothing except her undergarments. When she was done, she didn't look over her shoulder to see what Loki was up to; instead, she took her time folding each piece into a stack next to the bed, so they would be easy to get to later.

 _He's one of the greatest sorcerers in the Nine Realms, or so I've heard_ , said King Thor, his smile at odds with his words. _But we have sorcerers in Asgard, too._

 _We tested it,_ Sif had added quickly. _Against a captured Jotun. It_ will _work, Jane._

Loki took a seat at the table nearby, still watching her. Maybe he knew she was up to something, she thought, and her heart began to beat faster. Her breast binding and underwear weren't exactly armor; he could rip her heart out of her chest if he wanted to.

Instead of letting any of this show, Jane turned to face him with her hands on her hips.

He raised an eyebrow at her. She took the seat next to him, crossed her legs.

"I believe you missed something," he said finally, with an obvious glance at her clothes.

She tried to make her voice come out even and unhurried. "Why should I do all the work?"

Again, that surprised look. She could get used to that. But, she reminded herself, she probably wouldn't have time to.

"What brought this on?"

If he discovered the truth –

Jane made herself get up and stand over him. It was the only time she was taller than him. "I guess . . . I got a picture of what the rest of my life was going to look like."

He was breathing faster, she realized, as he looked up at her. "Did you, now." His hand tugged at her wrist, inexorable, until she was pulled into his lap, straddling one of his legs. She just looked at him without moving, her mouth set.

"Resignation –" His eyes darted over her face. "Is not a good look on you. Someone once told me, it's better when they want you. She was right."

Jane glared at him, her hands tightening on his shoulders. She was _not_ going to think about wanting him. This wasn't about want. "I hate you more than anyone else in the Nine Realms." Her voice shook slightly.

He smiled at that, gleaming and sharp. "That's better." He nipped at her lower lip, and then kissed her.

She almost drew back at the gentleness of it, how he sucked her lip into his mouth, how easy and unhurried it was. Instead of making her relax, it made her tense.

"What is it that you want, hmm?" he breathed. His other hand tightened on her hip. "A sweet lover? I could wear his face, you know. Would you enjoy that?"

She fought to keep the tremble out of her voice. "Since when did you care about what I want?"

"Well . . ." A soft kiss pressed under her eye. "I didn't say I was going to give it to you."

Paradoxically, that made her relax. Loki was still Loki. "Fine, then. Don't."

He laughed, and then surged up underneath her to kiss her again, much harder this time. He let go of her wrist to press his hand to her back and pull her closer to him, the friction from his leg making her whimper.

He must have been aware of the chance that she would change her mind, though, because he did all the things he knew she would like: tugged off her breast binding so that he could thumb her nipple and roll it between her fingers until she arched, kneaded the backs of her thighs until her limbs were loose and spreading, sucked hard kisses into her neck till she was tilting her head back herself. She had given him a lot of weapons, and now he was using them against her.

She reminded herself that she would win in the end.

 _Keep him distracted,_ Sif had said, looking up at her with earnest eyes. _You don't have to – we're not asking you to -_ But Jane had known exactly what they were asking.

Jane rocked on his leg with a soft sound, the pressure finally too much for her, and he growled and reached between her legs. She looked down just as he did so, and was struck by the sight, remembering, with shame, how she had imagined it. The cloth pulled against her, the rough texture dragging a sound out of her that she tried to swallow down.

Loki grunted in frustration, and then suddenly he was standing, holding her up effortlessly. Jane wrapped her legs around him instinctively and tightened her grip on his shoulders.

It was only a couple of steps to the bed, where he pushed her down into the furs and leaned over her. His teeth sank into one of her breasts, which made her cry out involuntarily and her toes curl.

He didn't bother with her underwear, just hooked a finger under the scrap of fabric and pulled until it tore. His own loincloth was easy to push out of the way – she held her breath, remembering how she had touched him – but he only gave himself a couple of strokes and pushed one of her knees up.

His cock was dark and flushed against her skin. It was pressed against the crease of her thigh, and she reached down between them without thinking to adjust him. He was thick and heavy in her hand. The skin there was rougher than she'd imagined, rougher than any man's she'd ever had, and those raised lines all over his skin traveled all the way to the edge of his foreskin.

She dragged a finger down one, curious. He groaned and dropped his head onto her shoulder, his hips slamming against hers. Then she had him, the tip of his cock pressing against her – oh god, her whole body tightened with anticipation – and into her with a groan.

Jane cried out; she couldn't help it. It was too much feeling, the stretch and burn of it making her knees tremble and her back arch. She was slick with arousal, but she could still feel the strange texture of his skin pulling at her every time he moved.

He gave her another thrust, and another after that. He pushed himself up on his hands and began a steadier rhythm, his breathing ragged and uneven. From this angle, she could see sweat beading at his temple and the slight unsteadiness in his red gaze.

She ached, wanting him to touch her, or to touch herself – she squirmed against him, trying to get the angle better for herself at least – but his hips pinned her in place. No, he knew what he wanted and he was just going to take it. The steady, rolling drive of his thrusts began to deteriorate eventually, until they were uneven and bruising-hard.

Finally, he was coming with a groan, his hips slamming against hers erratically until he was done. Jane drew in shaking breaths as he stilled for a long moment, holding himself over her. Something splashed onto her chest. It was a drop of sweat; his eyes were closed. Then he grunted and pulled out of her, ignoring her whimper.

He didn't move off immediately, though, relaxing a little and nosing at her breasts. "You're protected from me, but I have none from you," he said finally. "Perhaps I should fashion some. Then again, perhaps not."

That explained the sweating. Jane found she didn't mind at all if it was painful for him, if he wasn't going to touch her. But then he was moving down her body till his shoulders were spreading her thighs further apart. She felt something wet drip against her thigh and shuddered.

"Oh –" she said faintly. Her hips were pushing up at him eagerly, but her mind was whirring in a different direction. If they came while she was – but it wasn't midday, not yet –

He huffed a laugh against her belly. "You can have your pleasure if it pleases me," he said in a low voice, and without warning licked a broad stroke up her cunt.

Jane's body seized up at the sensation, and she cried out before she could help herself.

No one had ever done that to her, but it was exactly what she wanted in that moment. The texture of his tongue was rough; she bit her knuckle against a cry. He licked her out with soft strokes, tongue pulsing against her; she rocked her hips to give him the rhythm she wanted, and it didn't take long for her to come, and come hard.

Lazily he licked her through it, until she was shuddering away from his touch, and he rose and wiped his mouth. She could see his own seed, briefly, on the back of his hand along with her own juices, and shivered again.

He lay back against the furs next to her; he looked like he was about to get heatstroke, panting and sweating. Some of his hair was damp.

It was only a few minutes before he seemed to begin drowsing off, but Jane waited until she was sure he was totally asleep before moving.

The pocket of her dress was visible from the bed, and fortunately for her he was closer to the wall. All she had to do was get the talisman and get it on him, without him waking up or noticing.

The beads were heavy in her hand. She rolled them around consideringly.

 _The best place would be on his casting arm,_ Sif had said, looking apologetic, as if she knew there was no way.

But Jotuns often wove jewels and metals into their hair, for both decoration and magic, and Loki was no exception. She reached out to touch his scalp, and when he didn't move, she began to work a quick, light braid into a lock of his hair, weaving the talisman in as she went. Finally she tied it off and laid it back down.

Then she stepped out of the bed and, working as quickly and silently as possible, got dressed and sat at the table with one of Loki's books. Sif had kept her word; she hadn't heard anything. Hopefully that meant good things.

It wasn't too long before Loki did wake, at least a little, and rolled over to face her. "Well," he said with a little yawn, catlike, "it's been some time since I've won a bet so pleasurably."

He didn't seem to notice anything. Jane kept her eyes on the book.

"Don't be like that," he said, sounding immensely self-satisfied. "I know you enjoyed yourself."

That did make her gaze snap up. "That's not it," she said, and even though it was a stupid thing to say she said it anyway. "It's just – you didn't win."

He frowned and opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, the doors were thrown open, and the Asgardians swept in.


	13. Chapter 13

After the soldiers had locked Loki in irons and led him away, Sif had turned to Jane, who was standing stock still.

 _It worked,_ she thought, half in amazement, half disbelief. She wasn't sure if she was sorry or triumphant or something else entirely.

"We must work quickly," Sif said, pulling Jane along gently, out of the palace door and down the road. "We don't know how much time we have. Odin – Thor's father – could wake at any moment."

She told Jane a little more, about how the king's father could still be alive and yet not king. "It's Thor's chance, you see," Sif explained. "He's always wanted to win back Midgard from the frost giants, and the Odinsleep was his opportunity."

Jane, who was still struggling to think of an Asgard free of Jotun rule, simply nodded and followed.

"It's not safe for you to be here now, so we're all going back to Asgard, at least for now. With the prince in our grasp, bargaining for it might be possible. Perhaps even for more. You've done a great service for Asgard, Jane."

Jane did not feel particularly heroic. Despite her words, Sif seemed to sense this and gave her a sympathetic smile.

"What about Erik?" Jane asked.

"Safe and sound," she assured her. "We had people in your village organizing – it went off quite well, if I do say so myself." Her words broke off as they neared another group of soldiers.

As she watched, Loki was being dragged between two of the Asgardian soldiers, heaving and kicking the whole way. Jane turned away from the sight a little: not because she wasn't glad, exactly, but it still made her uneasy. Maybe it was all the blood in the air, or the strewn bodies - most Jotuns, some Asgardians - that she could see and smell. Sif looked over at her questioningly, but Jane didn't say anything.

As he was dragged past, he caught sight of her and went totally still for a moment. "You," he breathed out, shock making his face go slack.

Then he seemed to recover himself - or lose his senses entirely, now aiming the whole of his fury and energy in an attempt to break free in her direction.

His guards, caught by surprise for his sudden renewed frenzy, almost let him slip as he lunged toward her. "You _whore,_ you mewling - I'll kill you myself, Jane, I swear to you, as long as it takes for me to break free I'll find you, wherever you are, and wring your neck -"

Swearing, Sif jerked Jane behind her and pulled her sword in one swift motion. The tip just grazed Loki's throat; he jerked back minutely and aimed a glare at Sif that, had he had his magic with him, could have leveled a village.

His guards yanked him back by the arms. Almost immediately a blank mask descended over his face, and that was so much more unnerving to Jane that she shrank back again.

"I promise I'll come for you," he said, his smile perfectly calm and steady, and as certain as if he were saying the sun would set that night. A bead of blood slipped down his throat where Sif's sword had caught him, bright against his skin; her eyes couldn't help but follow its trail. He smiled, and it was a horrible smile. "I think you'd like that, wouldn't you, Jane Fosterdottir? Oh, yes, we both know how much you loved it, every second of it, how I made you scream -"

Jane's whole body went hot and cold all at once on hearing his words, electric with horror that he could just _say_ these things in front of people, important people, Asgardians, and they were all _listening_. _But isn't he right?_ some part of her whispered. _Didn't you enjoy it, at least a little?_ No, she thought, but it had no force behind it. All her strength had left her, it seemed, she was barely staying upright.

_You let him do it to you. You even kissed him, you went to a monster's bed, and willingly . . ._

Dimly she was aware of Sif grabbing her arm. "Will _someone_ ," she said, very loudly, "kindly stuff this cretin's mouth so we don't have to _listen_ to this horseshit?"

Someone got creative with a strip of fabric from their sleeve, but it was too late: Jane didn't have to listen to him speak to hear his words in her head anymore. No one else said anything; in fact, they were studiously avoiding her gaze. Jane felt sick to her stomach. Only Sif seemed unaffected. "Where the fuck is Thor," she muttered, glancing around.

There was a thump behind them, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. "Right here," said a voice, deep and male and confident.

" _Finally,_ " Sif sniffed as he joined them in the circle. 

Thor, tall and golden, smiled at Jane as he neared, but she could only look away, anywhere else. "A most glorious battle, wouldn't you agree?"

"We can compare kills later," said Sif sternly, even though a smile was playing at the edge of her lips. "In the meantime - Heimdall, open the Bifrost."

Despite her unease, Jane's heart lifted a little. She was done with Loki. She was going to Asgard. Instead of looking at the others, she turned her gaze up to the sky, to where the stars would be. She could only hope that behind the new home was a new life.


End file.
